Year of Silence
by lamentomori
Summary: After the death of his wife, Steve decides he can't keep the Broken Skull Ranch foster home open, but a request from an old friend to take on one more troubled teen persuades him to keep the gates open for another year. Warnings: AU. Eventual Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Profanity, Age difference.
1. August

**Warnings**: AU. **Eventual** **Warnings**: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Profanity, Age difference.

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><p>Many years ago, Steve Austin met a woman, a beautiful woman, with long hair, big eyes, a bigger bust and somehow an even bigger heart. A woman he loved more than any other person who ever has, does or will walk the Earth. They married, and bought a ranch, which made good sense to them as both were good, honest country folk, unafraid of the hard work that goes with running a ranch that's even close to profitable. It was a struggle, but they managed, they made do and somehow, some way, enough success to keep their heads comfortably above water came their way. They reared cattle, they reared puppies, kittens, chicks, ducklings, even an unexpected hedgehog, everything but the one thing they wanted to rear. No matter how hard or how often they tried, a baby was never on its way.<p>

Eventually, they went to the city to speak with doctors more _qualified_ than their local small town one. Fertility programs were discussed, age was considered, and of course, a sperm count carried out.

Every man lives with the assumption that they're packing a pistol of fertility in their pants, fully loaded and waiting to be fired at their spouse. The day the doctors told Steve his pistol was actually paint gun, a little part of him died, a little part of him felt less like a man. After that moment he became more obsessed with being _macho_, he took up hunting, and fishing, and beer drinking in the local bar. After that moment, perhaps, it would have been better for his wife to have left him to seek out a man who wasn't packing balls of nothing but useless white paint. But, Steve's wife loved him as much as he loved her, so she stayed, made do with an empty house and a husband who dragged deer carcasses home instead of giving her children. Until one day, she proposed an idea, a way to fill their home with laughter and fun once more, a way to have the children they always wanted. The first idea was adoption, but as they went to fill out papers and have meetings, they met an old man from Oklahoma, an old man who worked in the business of helping young people with _troubled _backgrounds, an old man by the name of Jim Ross. Now, Mr Ross started talking to Steve's wife, started telling her about the kids he helped find places for, kids who were almost in too deep, kids who needed someone to set them up straight, and help them fly right. The idea appealed to Steve's wife, the thought that she and her husband could help not just one child, but dozens, rear them, raise them, mould them into good citizens the same way she and Steve trained their dogs to be the sweetest pups in the county filled her with job. The very notion made her want to ask Good Ol' Jim to sign them straight up. The ranch was plenty big, there'd be plenty for kids to do, and honest folk are forged with honest work, the Devil makes work for idle hands was a saying she was raised with, and one she'd always taken to heart. So she spoke to Steve about what Mr Ross had told her. It's not often that Steve drags his heels, but being a temporary father to dozens of kids wasn't something he'd ever considered. He'd always wanted a pair of kids of his own, a strapping, handsome boy, and the prettiest girl to ever walk the Earth, but biology had conspired against him, and he'd reconciled himself with the idea of raising a baby that somebody else didn't want as his own. Only now, his wife wanted to go down a different path.

Fostering, or at least as close to it as they did, turned out to be far better than raising just one kid. The ranch house was full, bustling with kids of different ages, races, backgrounds, all trying to get along, all trying to be better, all being a strange little family. The first time Steve knew exactly what real happiness was, was the first Christmas they spent with a houseful of kids. He'd dressed as Santa, had snuck through the rooms of each kid dropping off a present, and gone to sleep feeling like, even knowing that he was a good man.

Life was good for years, so many years, the Ranch thrived, little side business sprung up run by the kids that passed through, handed down to the kids that came after them. It wasn't all plain sailing, there were trials and tribulations, but Steve and his wife came through them stronger than ever, more determined than ever, more in love than ever.

Until the day it all changed.

You don't expect these things in a small town like the one the Ranch was near. You expect the odd robbery, you have to expect that what with the fragile economy, but you don't expect the criminals to kill, don't expect them to use a bullet to snuff out the brightest light the World's ever seen. When she died, Steve re-housed the kids, couldn't bear the idea of having to live with such happiness, when his own was so destroyed. He'd become a virtual recluse, declining to answer his phone, only going to town when he had to, his only companion was his dog, Hershey. His wife had named her after his pet-name for her. He'd called his wife that because the only kisses sweeter than her's were made of chocolate, but she'd always thought it was a corny pet-name, so had named the dog that instead. He'd settled on Honey for her. Hershey was his companion, from the day he got that little chocolate brown pup, she'd been faithfully following along at his heels, and now it was just the two of them, she was still there.

And so it was for almost a year, the anniversary of his wife death was rapidly approaching, and Steve wasn't sure what to do to remember it. He'd gotten dozens of letters in the mail, all of them from kids that have passed through the ranch, all of them asking if he needed some help, if there was anything they could do to help. He'd been invited to just about every State, had been assured that no matter where he went there'd be a warm bed and a warmer welcome waiting for him. He knows he should write them back, should thank them for their offers, but he can't think of the words. Rather than think about these things, he took his rifles out to the veranda at the front of the house, and sat behind an old trestle table to clean them, losing himself in the repetitive work. He'd settled into a nice grove, when the sound of an old beat-up truck comes to him. He knows that truck, knows the person behind the wheel, the only person to have braved seeing him since she'd passed.

"Morning Steve." Jim ambles up, hat in hand and leans against the railing around the veranda. Before he opens his mouth Steve knows what he's going to say, can tell by the harried look on his face, and the manila folder in his hand.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya? The answer is no." Steve keeps his head down, focussing on the task at hand, cleaning rifles is a dainty task that requires time, patience and no distractions from old friends.

"Just one." Jim takes a seat on the bench, and starts fussing over Hershey, the dog lapping the attention, and the treats she's being fed, up.

"Not interested." The folder lands on the table, and Jim flips it open. There's a picture of a kid. Scrawny, all solemn eyes and too long, too lanky limbs, a kid that hit a growth spurt, and is waiting for the weight one. "Jim, I don't care if it's a hundred kids, now that _she's_ gone, I'm done."

"He's not quite sixteen... Good kid, clever." Jim starts flipping through the papers in the file, leaving that picture staring up at Steve, big, dark eyes, the colour hard to decide on because of the way the pictures taken, staring up at him.

"If he's a good kid, why'd you wanna send him here?" The damn picture keeps looking at him. It's ridiculous because pictures can't, but Steve feels like those eyes are pleading with him, begging for his help. "Hey, is that a Chicago Cubs shirt he's wearing?" Jim laughs awkwardly, and Steve finally turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, confusion on his face.

"Well... They want him out of the State." Jim rubs the back of his neck, and smiles. "Any chance of a beer?"

"C'mon in the house, take your damn file with you." Steve stands, tidying up the cleaning supplies as best he can be bothered and leads his old friend into the kitchen. It's not a room he's been in too much since she died. Almost a year ago, it'd been filled with delicious scents and laughing, his wife bustling around being helped by some of the younger kids who were staying at the ranch. Almost a year ago, there'd have been so much more to do on a day like this than sit on the porch cleaning his guns. There'd have been kids to teach, crops to harvest, games to be played, lives to be lived. Almost a year ago, August would have been far too busy. The day his wife died, the anniversary in three days, more than a little of Steve went with her.

They sit and talk, carefully avoiding the manila folder on the counter between them, talking with an aimless, easy chatter, sipping at beers. It's maybe an hour before Jim opens the folder once more, the picture of the kid staring up at Steve again.

"You know what she'd tell you, Steve." The old man says, tapping the picture once. "She'd take one look at him, and tell you to start prepping a room for him." Steve sighs; he can hear her in his ear, trying to decide which one of the many bedrooms he'd like, wondering if he had any allergies, what his favourite food was, which kind of cookies he'd like best, a million little things that she'd always consider.

"I told you a thousand times, Jim. No more, I can't, not on my own." Steve moves to close the folder, but those dark, _pleading_ eyes stop him.

"I'll give you a week to think on it, but that's all... You're my first choice for him, but if you _really_ don't want him, I can ship him somewhere else." Jim grabs his hat and heads for the door. "Just think on it, okay. Don't make a decision because you don't think you can help. You can, and we both know that. Isn't that right little Miss Hershey?" The dog barks in agreement, and Steve glances at her.

"You're supposed to be loyal to me, little lady." He tells her sternly, getting a look that he's sure he saw on his wife's face so many times. A look that says, there's loyalty and there's indulging stupidity, and this _is_ loyalty. "At the end of the week my answer isn't going to change. Take this with you." He flips the folder closed, and holds it out to Jim.

"I'll come pick it up in a week. It's just a year, Steve, that's all." Jim opens the door, and puts his hat on. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it'd be good for _both_ of you." Steve snorts, and finishes his beer, sometimes a year is far too long.

"How is forcing me to take on another kid supposed to help _me_?" He scoffs, taking the empty bottles to sink; habit makes him rinse them out to be recycled.

"Steve, you're the kind of guy who needs a project, you need to be doing someth-"

"I am doing something, Jim. I'm running a ranch. I'm getting on with my life." There's a part of Steve that's neatly pointing out that he's mostly treading water, that he's afraid to really _do_ anything because for the first time in years he'll be doing it on his own.

"Hmm... See ya in a week, Steve." Jim leaves him alone, and Hershey looks up at him, her eyes as pleading as the kid in that picture.

"Oh no... Don't you look at me like that, girl. You and me, we can't be ma and pa, you know that." The dog huffs at him and wanders off.

The manila folder stays on the kitchen counter for three days before Steve braves reading it. It's the anniversary of her dying, and he _knows_ she'd have taken that sad looking little boy in without a question, he'd already be here if it was a year ago. There's a lot missing, details on the kid's family are thin on the ground, chunks of information missing as though it's something that can't be revealed for legal reasons, and in that moment Steve knows that one of the many bedrooms in his home are going to be filled. There aren't too many reasons for him to receive a file as edited as this one, and every one of those reasons is something he wants to take that solemn eyed kid away from.

"Well Miss Hershey, what you think? Which room would our guest like?" Steve holds the picture up so the dog can see, and she sniffs at it, snorting when she decides she can't eat it. "C'mon. I guess, Hershey, its laundry day." He decides he'll change all of the linen, give the kid a free choice. Though based on the picture, he thinks the kid'll like the room in the attic. It's big, all interesting angles and little nooks and crannies, it seems like the sort of place the kid would like, but then again Steve never was too good at assessing a person from a photo. Hershey hops off his lap and pads down the hall, stopping at one of the small rooms near the kitchen, scratching at the door. "Oh, you think here?" He laughs, and had the terrible feeling that the dog will be right, she always was good at guessing where the kids would choose to go.

"Steve? You home?" Once the week is up, Jim returns, looking dusty and tired. Steve can't help but wonder if he's been trying to find someone else to take his new kid, wonders, almost worries he might have succeeded, and has come to tell Steve he doesn't need him.

"Up here." Steve's cleaning the gutters, it's not really an August task but there's absolutely nothing left in the house to clean, so the outside is getting a sprucing up as well.

"Well, I'm guessing your answer's changed then?" Jim laughs, his hat in his hand as he dabs at his sweating brow.

"When you taking him out here?" Steve comes down the ladder, and takes Jim into the kitchen, for a couple of beers.

"The day before schools starts back, so end of the month... You sure you're gonna have enough to keep you busy till then? I can get you another couple of kids... Got a really sweet little girl whose mommy just went to jail... She sure could use a place to stay." Jim smiles, but there's no folder with him, so Steve relaxes, he gets the feeling he'd take one look at this _sweet little girl_ and be offering a room up. He'd not expected it, but knowing that there was going to be someone who needed him coming lit a fire under his ass, drove him forward, gave him more reasons to get his ass out of bed. He'd been planting some quick growing crops out in the vegetable patch, was planning on sorting the lawn and the flower beds out too. A thousand things he'd been neglecting in his mourning suddenly seemed incredibly important.

"So... What changed your mind?" Jim asks, opening the bottle of beer Steve passed him.

"There's nothing in this folder, Jim." Steve smacks the folder down on the counter. "I know there's not too many reasons for that."

"I don't know any more than you do." Jim sighs, polishing off his beer, fiddling with the label. "They don't like to give out too much information if the investigation is _ongoing_." He sighs, and hefts himself off the stool. "So I'll bring Phil out in about a week, we'll probably get in pretty late, so I'll feed him before we get here."

"Good idea... Save the poor kid from my culinary prowess a while longer." Steve laughs, and stands, fully intent on getting back out and on with the yard work.

"Hmm... Maybe you should try and find someone willing to deliver out here." Jim laughs and claps Steve's shoulder. "Well, I'll see if I can manage to send one of those messages on the phone when we're at the top of the track... Or get the kid to do it."

"You do that." Steve follows Jim out to his truck and watches his friend leave. He shouldn't be excited, but he is, and he's not going to fight with it. Its good having the fire back in his belly after all.

_We'll be about 10 minutes. - Jim Ross_

The text has Steve up and making last minute adjustments to the place, Hershey trailing along behind him, looking confused.

"Right, now on your best behaviour Hershey. Don't want to scare the poor kid more than he already will be." Steve pets her on the head, and answers the door at Jim's knock. He strides in after giving Steve's hand a firm shake, behind comes the kid, a thin looking duffel bag over his shoulder, dressed in clothes that look at least two sizes too big, and as old as he is.

"Steve, this is Phil." Jim steps out of the way, and Steve stares at the kid. He looks nervous and out of place, still nothing but lanky limbs and huge eyes, that in natural light look more green than anything else.

"Steve? You sure?" The kid turns to Jim, and Jim laughs nodding.

"Ornery old bastard won't take too kindly to being called _sir_, but-"

"Steve Austin, call me Steve, son." He extends his hand, and the kid looks at it dubiously. In the back of his mind Steve can hear his wife telling him to be patient, that they're all scared at first, that sometimes scared seems arrogant and cocky, but underneath this is a frightened little boy, and you need to remember that.

"You can _son_ me all you want, I ain't calling you _dad_, Mr Austin." The kid takes Steve's hand and shakes it, his eyes narrowing, and Steve fights a smirk. Sometimes cocky arrogance is a very flimsy disguise for the fact that all they are is a scared little boy, and based on how flimsy Phil's swagger is, he's terrified.

"Well, good..." The kid looks fidgety like he wants to have made a better first impression, leave or something in the middle. "Any room you like, apart from the big one on the second floor, Phil. That one's mine." The kid nods, and grabs his bag, trudging from the room.

"Well... What ya think?" Jim follows Steve to the kitchen and takes the beer from him, sipping on it and perching on a stool.

"I think..." Steve rubs a hand over his head, and sighs. "I think this'd be a lot easier if I wasn't on my own, Jim." The old man laughs and nods, setting a big envelope on the table.

"I had him pick out his electives, if you wanna take a look." Jim taps the envelope once. They sit in silence, sipping at some over-priced but good ale Steve bought at store in town, nothing but the sort of comfortable silence between old friends between them as Steve reads through the papers. Art, music, English, not too much in the way of sciences. It seems Phil's the creative type, and Steve can't say he's overly surprised. There's something about him that seems like he would be. The silence is broken by the sound of Hershey's claws clacking on the floor, and Steve glances up, watching her wander out of the kitchen and down the hall.

"He's a smart kid." Steve says eventually, the transcripts, the school reports all suggest that he is, just never really realised the full potential of his intelligence stuck as he was in his previous situation. A situation that Steve doesn't think he knows enough about to comment on beyond it wasn't good. The manila folder had been painfully short on details after all.

"Plenty smart." Jim nods, setting his empty glass down. "Good kid... I was told he's got quite the mouth on him, but was plenty quiet on the flight down, but I think that's cause... Well, this is all very _different_ for him. He's a city kid, Steve." The old man stands, picking up his hat. "I'll come by next month, see how ya'll are doing, okay?"

"Sure thing, Jim." Steve stands and walks him out to his pick-up. "Do I get the full story on why they wanted him out of the State, or is that gonna stay a mystery?" Jim laughs awkwardly, and shakes his head.

"I can't say nothing, cause I don't know nothing, Steve. Your best bet is trying to get Phil to tell you himself." Jim starts the engine, a roar followed by a soft purr. If Steve's honest, he's proud of the work he did on this beat up old truck, that purr was his and some tear-away from Detroit's hard work. "Well, g'night Steve. Mind to wake him up for school tomorrow."

"Will do, Jim." Steve offers the old man a short salute, and watches the truck drive away, up the dust dirt road to the ranch.

He ends up sitting watching TV for a few hours, considering going and finding the kid, but knowing it's probably better to let him settle in. It's scary enough coming to somewhere so far away from everything you've ever known, without some strange man harassing you. It'd always been his wife's job, making sure the new kids settled in okay, plying them with fresh milk, and straight from the oven cookies. Steve was always too awkward, too nervous to be comforting or reassuring, and he doesn't think that'll have changed. So he spends his time watching random sports, trying to remember if he can cook anything at all, cause there's going to be an extra mouth to feed tomorrow morning, and he's not sending the kid to school with nothing but coffee in his stomach.

"Hershey?" Steve calls eventually, intending to go to bed. It's getting late, and he's gotten used to having the side of the bed his wife used to sleeping in filled by the dog. He wanders through the house calling her, finally coming to one of the small rooms on the ground floor. A little bedroom near the backdoor, the room Hershey had decided would be the one their new houseguest would pick. There curled up on the bed is Phil with Hershey lying half-on top of him, her foot kicking as he scratches one her ticklish spots behind her ear. "This is the one you chose? There's bigger ones upstairs, you know." Steve shakes his head, not really surprised that Hershey picked right, he doesn't call her a wonder dog for no reason. Phil glances over at him and sits up, or more accurately slides up from under Hershey's weight.

"I don't need a bigger room." He shrugs; resuming scratching Hershey's head, the only sound in the room for a long time is that of her tail thumping on the bedspread.

"You like dogs?" Steve isn't sure how to deal with this kid. The quiet, difficult ones like Phil were always his wife's speciality. She'd win them over with cookies and unshakeable patience. Steve doesn't have her patience; he'd always do so much better with the kids that came to them needing to be brought down a peg or six. She'd handle the ones who were like stray cats, and Steve would handle the rabid dogs. It'd been their system and it'd always worked out, but now he's facing something odd in Phil. His file had suggested that he'd be more snarling and vicious, but he seems like a stray cat that's been forced into a corner one too many times and now he's tired of fighting, like he just wants to be left to lick his wounds in peace.

"I don't mind dogs." He shrugs again, but the smile on his face gives that away as a lie. He looks more than happy to indulge Hershey by petting her for as long as she wants. "They're stupid though." At that Steve laughs.

"Not Hershey the wonder dog, she's a genius." The dog looks at him, before settling back against Phil. There are times when Steve is convinced that dog understands what some kids need in the same way his wife did. More times than he can count, he's found her curled up around a kid in tears, offering nothing but her utterly un-judgemental, undemanding presence. Phil snorts, his attention still on Hershey.

"Down from my parents' house, there was an old man with a dog." Phil fidgets on the bed, and Hershey bumps at his hand with her nose, demanded that he continues scratching behind her ear. "Every day the old man beat this dog to within an inch of its life. It was skinny, didn't look like he'd ever fed it, so I started using my lunch money to buy it food, feeding it through the fence." Phil stops scratching, ignoring Hershey in favour of rubbing at his right arm, shoving the sleeve of his too big shirt up. "Now, one day I'm coming to feed the dog, and the old man's out in the yard, smacking the dog with a stick, and I've had enough, so I jump the fence and grab the stick, gonna give this guy a taste of his own medicine. But the dog..." Phil trails off, rubbing at an old scar on his right forearm. "The dog bites me." He laughs sadly and strokes Hershey's head once more, smiling down at her. "I wanted to save that dog, and it goes and bites me cause it thinks I'm gonna hurt its master. I think dogs are stupid cause they don't realise that some people... They just aren't worth protecting, some people deserve what they get." He shoos Hershey from his lap and stands. "Good night Mr Austin. Mr Ross told me I was going to school tomorrow, so I should get some sleep." Steve nods, and offers the kid a quiet good night, pointing out the nearest bathroom, but getting nothing but short and curt thanks in return.

"Well now, Hershey, what you think of our new house guest?" Steve asks as he settles in bed, the dog huffs as she flops down. "I know, I think he might be a hard nut to crack too."

_Be patient with him, Steve. These things take time, you know they do._

Steve doesn't really believe in ghosts, doesn't really believe in God either, not since he took her from him, but he thinks there must be something after, because when he needs it, he can hear her voice, soft like an April shower in his mind, telling him what he knows she'd say. He knows he needs to be patient, always he needs to remember to be patient with kids like Phil, ones who are hurt and scared, hiding behind walls that are high and thick.

_He'll come around. Just wait for him, don't rush him, don't force him... Be careful with him, my dopey rattlesnake._

He's never been sure why she'd called him her rattlesnake, but she had, and even though he knows it's just him talking to himself, he can hear her laughing at him for being so antsy over this one kid. Rushing Phil will be bad; he's in the dangerous grey area, where if you push too hard he'll clam right up. The other side of that is if you don't push at all, then he won't get anything out of being here. It's a fine balancing act, and Steve's been out of practice for over a year now. They've plenty of time to get to know each other, a whole year in fact, and this is actually the first time it's ever been just one kid on the ranch, so Phil's going to find himself with Steve's full, undivided attention. He only hopes that doesn't scare him, the file Jim gave him had a lot of blanks and there has to be a reason they wanted him out of the State. It's not really Steve business, not yet at least, but once the kid starts talking, Steve has the feeling he's not going to be able to go to Illinois for fear of having an enforced stay in one of its many fine correctional facilities. It's always irked him how you have to have a license to have a gun, to drive a car, or to own a liquor store, but they'll let any idiot have a kid. Some people shouldn't be trusted to raise kids, some people shouldn't be allowed fragile burgeoning minds that need nurturing and handling with the utmost of care, because some people don't deserve it. He thinks Phil had a point when he said that dogs were stupid, they don't judge, they don't see that some people aren't worthy of their unconditional affection, and give it far too freely.

"Good night honey." Steve whispers into the darkness, but as it's been for over a year now, the only reply is Hershey snoring.

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><p><em>Hi... I'm kind of nervous about this one... Another AU, with perhaps not as much research behind it as I'd like so if there's anything incredibly squiffy PM me and lemme know, okay? :)<em>

**Needless to say... I'm _more_ than interested in your thoughts, so please do review! **


	2. September

**Warnings**: AU, Implied Child Abuse. **Eventual** **Warnings**: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Profanity, Age difference.

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><p>The morning comes, and Steve pulls himself from bed. His dreams had been strange; he'd seen his wife sitting under a big old tree, a jug of ice tea beside her, with a delicately beautiful smile on her face. No matter how hard Steve had tried to walk to sit by her, he'd not been able to leave the veranda he was standing on. It'd been like there was something tethering him in place, something desperately clinging to him, stopping him from going to her. Now, he's not really one for reading too much into dreams, but he thinks that it's a sign that he can't go to his wife, because there's something that needs him where he is, something that he needs to feed before sending to school. It's not modesty or misogyny that's kept Steve out of the kitchen, but the brutal fact that he is the sort of man who can't even boil water. Over the last year, he's learnt a little in the culinary arts, but for the most part cookery is a science far beyond him. He has at least mastered the art of putting bread in the toaster, and then covering it in peanut butter.<p>

"Hershey?" The spot on the bed beside him is empty, habit makes him leave the door open for her, in case she needs to go get a drink in the night, but she's usually curled up by the pillows in the morning. Not today, her spot is vacant, and it throws Steve. He supposes she's gone to wake up their little houseguest. She was always good at knowing which of the kids would need a cold wet nose to wake them up in the morning, so he supposes that's Hershey has gone to make sure the kid doesn't sleep in on his first day of school.

Downstairs smells surprisingly good, like real, actual food and slightly burnt coffee. When Steve comes to the kitchen, he's expected maybe Jim to have come bearing gifts of food, not the kid to be awake, talking to Hershey in a low voice about how strange it'd been going to sleep with only the sound of crickets, standing at the stove cooking something that smells delicious.

"You cook?" Steve doesn't mean to surprise the kid, but he jumps and turns to Steve, looking guilty, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

"Well... Uh... You didn't strike me as much of a chef, Mr Austin, sir..." He trails off, his hands twisting in the sleeves of his too big and too long shirt.

"You're not wrong about that, son." Steve grins, and walks further into the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee out. "How'd you take it?" The kid stares at him for a few seconds before turning back to the pancakes he's cooking.

"Black." There's a strangely tense but surprisingly comfortable silence between them, the only sounds are Hershey's soft panting and the noise of food cooking. "I don't know where her food is..." The kid says eventually, carrying a plate of pancakes over to Steve. Hershey's eyeing them hungrily, and Steve can tell that he's going to end up feeding her some of them. "So I made her one... Is that okay?" Steve laughs and nods, at least this way he doesn't have to part with his own food.

"Course, I'm sure the wonder dog'll appreciate it." Phil nods, and starts cutting the last pancake into pieces, dropping it into Hershey's bowl. "You take syrup or butter?" Steve stands, going to fetch both, sitting back down when the kid does. He's going to need to remember to stop thinking of him as _the kid_. Phil has a name, and Steve needs to remember to use it. Phil starts pushing his food around the plate, clearly waiting for Steve to give his opinion on his cooking. The pancakes look good, and by the way Hershey has already devoured her's, they should taste pretty good too. The first bite confirms that Miss Hershey has good taste. They're light and fluffy; the kid has some skill when it comes to the science of cooking, even if his elective choices would indicate he's not much of a scientist.

"Are..." The kid starts, but quickly stops talking, and starts eating, his eyes downturned, his whole posture tense. This timid, nervous stuff isn't Steve's speciality, he longs for his wife to be there to break the awkward silence with easy chatter. Even if it was just her talking, she'd never let a heavy fog of off-putting silence last too long.

"So, you cook anything else or are we eating pancakes for every meal?" Steve thinks he sounds too forced, but he can't take the air of misery that's built up between them anymore, something to break this silence is better than nothing.

"They're okay?" The kid sounds so very uncertain, and Steve laughs, taking a sip of the coffee. "That's burnt... I can't not burn it." Phil looks slightly contrite and Steve laughs again.

"Well, I make a mean cuppa coffee. How's about I pour this away and make a good pot?" Steve takes the two cups and dumps the contents down the drain, before collecting the pot and starting a new batch of coffee. He retakes his seat and returns to eating, half watching the kid, half-watching Hershey as she inches closer, a little puddle of drool under her. "To answer the question, they're damn good, son. And I repeat, do you cook anything else?" Phil looks up; his eyes are far too big for his slender face. He looks like one of those Asian cartoons where the characters faces are nothing but eyes. In the picture from the manila folder they'd been hard to take, but in person they're much worse. There's entirely too much of a stray kitten about this kid, he looks so helpless and vulnerable. Steve can only hope that he gets over this nervousness soon, cause its making Steve nervous too.

"Some easy stuff... I'm not... I mean, I can cook easy stuff." He mutters, and Steve's beginning to think whoever told Jim that this kid has a big mouth was lying, because he seems like he's afraid of his own shadow, unless this is all an act, or it's still nerves or something else entirely.

"Easy is about twenty times better than me. We'll head to the store after school, get some groceries." Steve goes to the coffee pot and comes back with two cups, setting one down in front of Phil.

"Did..." Phil sighs and sips at his coffee, scratching behind Hershey's ear when she wanders over to him and rests her head on his thigh. "Your wife before she died... Did she do all the cooking?"

"Now, how'd you know my wife was dead? Did Jim tell you?" Steve has to fight down anger, he doesn't want to talk about her, not yet, and not with some kid he's only just met.

"No, sir... It's just..." Phil looks up at him, still bleeding nervousness. It's easy to let go of anger in the face of those too big eyes, it's easy to not want to make the kid even more uncomfortable. "None of the pots had been used in a while, the flour was old, and you're not a cook, Mr Austin." He smiles slightly, and Steve nods vaguely, he's not a cook in the least. "You still wear your wedding band so divorce wasn't likely... And no offence, but this is the sort of place where divorce is still a big deal, so it's even _less_ likely. That all makes her dying the most logical thing to have happened." The kid finishes, his voice growing slightly stronger the longer he talks, by the end of his little deduction, he sounds almost confident, and Steve has to admit he's impressed. Phil is both observant and smart.

"Ha, you're a smart little thing, aren't you?" Steve laughs, and the kid looks desperately uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair.

"Not really." Phil ducks his head, sipping at his coffee, but there's a _tiny_ smile on his lips. He looks a little pleased with himself, and Steve can't really say he blames him. If he could work things out like that, he'd be a little smug about it too.

"No! You, sir, are a clever thing, Mr Brooks." Steve grins at him, but something stricken crosses Phil's face, and he looks horrifically uncomfortable.

"Don't call me that." He says quietly, busying himself with drinking his coffee again.

"Well, I'll stop call you Mr Brooks, when you start calling me Steve. Mr Austin is what officers of the law and the taxman call me." Steve thinks the smile on his face is reassuring, he _hopes_ it's reassuring because Phil looks desperately like he needs reassurance right then.

"I... Okay, I'll try." Phil downs his coffee, and starts gathering the dirty dishes, taking them to the sink, leaving to get ready for school when Steve waves him off to do just that.

"So you ready to go? The bus stops at the end of the track, but I need to go into town, so I can give you a lift up to the road." The way the kid's dressed is going to stand out, he looks like a city kid, but Steve doesn't think it'll matter too much, the other kids in the town all seem to want to dress like city kids too. Gone are the days of denim cut-offs, hand-me-downs, and plaid shirts that Steve vaguely remembers from his time in high school. Phil nods, but doesn't seem inclined to say anything. "I'll pick you up after, okay?" Another nod, and Steve chokes back a sigh, patience is going to be imperative with this kid. It's been less than a day since he left Chicago and came here; it's understandable that he's still _scared_. If he's still this way in a month, Steve'll be worried, but for now it's okay. "Well, have a good day." A third nod and the kid gets out of the car, and onto the bus. Steve watches it drive away, for a few seconds worried that this is going to be a horrible experience for the kid, but there's nothing he can do about it. What will happen will happen, and no amount of worrying will change the outcome, so he goes to pick up the supplies for fixing the fences he needs from the hardware store, resolutely not thinking about Phil and his too big, too scared eyes.

After a day spent telling himself to not worry, but doing it anyway, Steve sits and waits for Phil with the other parents there to pick up kids. He's been fielding questions from soccer moms the whole time he's been waiting. They seem at once happy and surprised to see him back at the school, even more surprised that there's only one child down at the ranch. Eventually, Phil comes shuffling along, a small group of _artsy_ looking girls around him, clearly slightly enamoured with him, not noticing how desperately uncomfortable he looks.

"Mr Austin." He sounds relieved when he walks up, and the soccer moms chuckle, surprised, once more, that Steve's letting him away with being so formal.

"Mr Brooks, good day?" Steve laughs, and nods to the moms, getting in the truck.

"It was... _Okay_." Phil winces at _Mr Brooks_, but smiles awkwardly, and ties his seatbelt. "The people here ,the other students, they're all _nice_." He shrugs, giving a vague wave to the girls who'd walked him to Steve's truck. There's more than one swooning, giggling female in the group, and Steve can't help but think that once Phil stops being nervous, he's going to be in a bit of a situation there.

"Pushy though?" Steve glances at him, notices he looks slightly less uncomfortable now he's away from the gaggle of girls, perhaps he'd already noticed the potential rivalries for his attention in that little group of girls.

"Incessantly nice." He says quietly, and seems to curl into himself slightly. "It's... _Different_ to Chicago." His voice is quiet and soft, like he's not sure if it's a good or bad different, and really, Steve can't help him either way there. It was always going to be different; this small Texan town is obviously _nothing_ like Chicago, it's up to Phil if that's a good or bad thing though.

"Well, we're good folks for the most part down here." Steve grins over at him, Phil nods slightly, like he'd already assumed that and frowns.

"Isn't Hershey here?" He asks, seemingly disappointed, and Steve has to hide a smile. He'd known how much Phil was taken with the dog even last night, it's not surprising the first thing he'd ask about is her.

"She don't much like the truck, hiding out in the back." Phil twists at Steve's words, talking to the laying down and looking miserable Hershey. "I'm convinced she remembers the first time she was in this truck." Steve glances at Phil's back in the rear view mirror.

"Oh? What happened?" He doesn't turn around; still fussing over the dog, the sound of her wagging tail thumping off the seat is surprisingly loud.

"We had to take her to the vet... She doesn't like the vet, and after that she went for her first bath." Hershey whimpers at Steve's words, and Phil laughs at her.

"That's a lot of trauma for a puppy to take in one day, poor Hershey." Phil settles back down in his seat, a little smile on his face. "She's a good dog... Clever." He says quietly and Steve nods.

"Hershey the wonder dog." He confirms. "So, you been thinking bout what you can cook, cause I hate to tell you, son, it's your job from now on. I've got nothing but toast in the old mental cookbook." Phil laughs at him, and Steve grins, more than a little proud of making his sullen little charge laugh.

The rest of the week passes in a similar fashion, though Steve lets the school bus ferry Phil to and from school back to the ranch. He spends most of his time hiding out, wandering around the ranch, and Steve leaves him to it, lets him explore his new surroundings, and get used to where he's staying for the next year. He needs to feel comfortable, and he's not going to unless he knows his new home.

The first weekend, Steve knows that they're going to have to _do_ something, they need to spend some time in each other's company beyond meal times. So at breakfast on Saturday morning, he decides to try and broach the subject. It's another one of those moments when he sorely misses his wife's presence. She'd have taken one look at Phil and been able to tell what would be something he'd enjoy. She'd always been good with guessing what the kids would like, _always_ able to tell which ones would enjoy working with the animals or out in the yard, or the fields, or the house even. Steve has no idea, and the ranch is a shade of its former self, the chickens are still there, but the fields are barren, it's too much work for one man to look after cattle and maintain a reasonable crop. The other problem is it's raining heavily, Fall showers aren't usually a big deal, but today it's like God has decided to try and pour half a year's worth of rain down at once.

"You've got a duck pond but no ducks." Phil says quietly, looking up briefly from the scrambled eggs he'd made for breakfast, and Steve nods, slightly sore about the downpour. Its weather for ducks if nothing else. There'd been quite a brace of ducks when his wife had died, but he'd let them go back with the last girl who'd been in charge of them. The animals the kids had looked after were either sold or given away when Steve had asked them to leave, he'd know he wouldn't have time for them all, so had let them go somewhere where someone would be able to do right by them.

"They were kind of a project for the kids who used to stay here." Steve sips at his coffee, ignoring his own plate of food in favour of watching Phil. He has an odd closed little expression on his face, his eyes still down cast.

"You got rid of them with the kids?" Phil sees far more interested in pushing his food around the plate than eating it, and Steve fights the urge to sigh. He'd hoped they'd have made a little more progress by now, but the kid still looks desperately awkward, desperately out of place in the ranch.

"One of the old kids took them, they're in Ohio now." Steve finishes eating, and stands. "I got a picture in one of these here letters." He wanders over to the pile of letters on the counter, and grabs them, coming back over to the table, noticing but ignoring that Hershey's busy swallowing the food that had been left on Phil's plate. If the kid isn't hungry, there's no point in forcing him to eat, he's nearly sixteen, almost old enough to start making decisions for himself, there's no point in babying him. "Here." Steve tosses half the pile over to Phil. "Postmark'll-"

"Be Ohio?" Phil smiles at him, and Steve nods, a grin on his face.

"Smartass." He mutters, rifling through his half of the letters.

"These are all from kids who've stayed here?" Phil asks after a while. He's sorted each letter by which state it was sent from, Steve following his lead once he'd realised what the piles were.

"Yup, they are... I should probably write back, but I don't know what to say to most of them." Steve finishes his coffee and goes to get a refill. "There ain't much you can say when all they're saying is hey Steve if you need a place to stay, I've got a couch, and I'm sorry she's gone." Steve sighs, his hand tightening around the mug he's holding. It _hurts_ talking about her; even now, even so long after she's gone, and Phil never met her doesn't know just _how_ sorry every one of those kids are.

"Thank you is alls you can really say, I guess." Phil's voice is far closer than Steve had been expecting, and he pours more coffee into Phil's cup. Those huge green eyes of his stare up at Steve, and very suddenly Steve feels horribly old and desperately lonely. This kid has no idea what it like to lose the one person you love more than any other. He's no idea of the pain and misery Steve has been living with for over a year now, but those eyes have a pain of their own, they know far too much about being hurt and afraid. They've got a lot in common in some respects, both alone, both hurt, both fond of coffee.

"Well, that's true I guess." Steve nods, and goes to sit back down, picking up the few letters from Ohio, trying to find the one with the picture of his ducks. He can hear Phil rustling around behind him, doing something with cupboards and crockery. He comes back and sets a plate covered in homemade cookies down.

"I couldn't sleep last night..." He mutters, taking one of the cookies and nibbling on it. "I didn't wake you?" He says quietly and Steve stares at the little plate, and then up at Phil.

"Didn't hear a peep." Steve takes a cookie and bites into it, utterly unsurprised that it's delicious; Phil's a good little cook. "Here you go, see there were a few of them back in the day." Steve hands the photo over to Phil, and he smiles at it. It's a shot of the pond a few summers back, a mama duck and sting of ducklings all swimming along behind her, a very cute little picture.

"Ha, cute." Phil smiles slightly and finishes his cookie. "Hershey came down to see what I was up to... I figured she'd have woken you up too." He mutters, taking another of his cookies. Steve didn't even notice the dog had left the bed in the night. He's getting more used to waking up without her there. Hershey seems to enjoy her mornings with Phil, if nothing else she's certainly spoiled by him, her food bag is going down slower than normal, she's definitely sneak more people food than she should.

"Did you get any sleep? You're looking white, kid." Now that Steve _really_ looks at him, Phil does look pale, dark smudges under his slightly red eyes.

"A little... It's quiet here." He mutters, and Steve laughs, he's so used to the quiet that the idea it could keep someone awake amuses him. The noise of the city would drive Steve mad, but he supposes it's all a matter of what you're used to, his wife could always sleep though, it was one of the many things she excelled in.

"That it is... How bout I stick a radio in your room, you can leave it on for some noise." It's an easy solution and Steve sure there's an old wind up radio somewhere in the basement, finding it will be the only tricky part of the plan, but it'll use up the day and keep them out of the rain.

"It's nothing really." Phil finishes his cookie, sipping at his coffee again. "I don't sleep all that much anyways."

"It's not good for a soul to go too long without sleeping." Steve takes another cookie. They're damn good, and he really needs to see if the kid can be persuaded to try some of the recipes his wife used to make, he's missed her brownies far more than he'd like to admit. "You done? You can come help me face the basement, I'm sure there's an old radio down there."

They'd spent the day in the basement, clearing through old junk, finding books of very old photos from when Steve was younger and his hair was a flowing, golden mane. Phil had gotten a good laugh at his expense, and in all honesty, it was good to hear the kid laugh, made him seem more like he belonged, somewhat at least. The old photos of Steve's wife had him choking back more tears, and trying to avoid Phil's eye, but the kid is smart, and every time there'd been a picture Steve had lingered over a little too long he'd gone back to moving boxes in search of the radio. It had taken all day, but eventually they'd found it, and Steve had had to explain how it worked, getting a dubiously raised eyebrow from Phil, but it seemed like he'd liked it well enough, and if nothing else, it brought something else to the plain little room he'd chosen, made it look more lived in that the beat up rucksack tossed in one corner.

"You wanna watch a game?" Dinner had been a surprisingly easy affair, filling and quickly made. Steve's beginning to think good Ol' Jim had sent Phil to him solely because the kid could cook. The clean up they'd shared, and it feels like Steve's made some progress with Phil today, a few baby steps taken towards getting him to open up. He's still nervous, but he's laughing more. Granted it's usually at Steve's expense, but something is better than nothing, at least that's what Steve keeps telling himself.

"Sure?" He sits on the couch, looking rigidly uncomfortable, sat like he was at a fussy aunt's place, all straight back, feet on the floor. Hershey hops up beside him, and curls up, her head on his thigh. "She's allowed on the couch?" He looks nervous, and Steve nods.

"Of course, it's her home as much as it is ours." Steve _hopes_ Phil will take the hint in that statement, will hear the implication that, for now at least, this is his home. He doesn't say anything, but does seem to relax some, petting Hershey absently. Steve flicks through the channels till he comes to some local league game on Public Access, and grins over at Phil. "You're a Cubs fan, right?" Phil nods, and Steve laughs. "Well, I guess you can do some talent scouting, lord knows these guys are probably good enough for Wrigley."

"The prophesy will be fulfilled, just you wait till twenty-fifteen." Phil scowls over at him, and Steve can't resist the urge to laugh, there's a deeply serious expression on the kid's face.

"I don't place too much faith in the accuracy of Michael J Fox movies." The kid snorts, and Steve laughs. It seems that they both only laugh at each other's expense.

"We'll see. Come twenty-fifteen, you'll be sorry for that lack of faith." Phil grins, turning to Hershey, ruffling her ears. "Isn't that right, Hersh? He'll regret doubting Marty McFly." Hershey yips excitedly, and Steve has never had her pegged as a Cubs fan till now.

Sunday they spend finishing up clearing the basement out. Steve isn't sure why, but he'd decided that organising the junk and clearing enough space to wander around down there seemed like a good idea. It gave them something to do whilst it rained for the second day straight.

The second week, nothing much changes, Phil makes breakfast and dinner, he does his homework, and spends most of his time alone or with Hershey. It's like sharing a house with a strange little ghost that only appears around meal times. Steve can't help but worry over how to bond with him. He spends the majority of his time on the ranch puzzling how to get Phil at least more involved in the running of the place. It'd be good for him if nothing else, all that fresh air and sunshine. He's still too skinny, but based on the width of his shoulders, when his weight catches up to his height, he'll be a sturdy kid, he'll be good to have around for a little manual labour. The only problem is inviting him out to help, Steve's wife had been the organiser, she'd been the one who divvied up chores and duties, Steve had just been her enforcer. So the entire second week they coexist, sharing polite mealtime conversation and little else.

"I just don't know what to do with him, Jim." Steve sighs into the phone. Phil and Hershey are out back. Hershey hunting bugs, her tail wagging, and Phil sketching on the big pad of paper he'd dragged back from school on Monday. Breakfast had been quiet, Phil utterly uncertain of what he wanted to do, and had cited that he'd homework to get on with. Steve had offered to help, but had been assured it was alright, Phil was certain he could manage.

"_He's not talking to you at all?_" Jim sounds worried, like he'd been expecting more progress by now, but really so had Steve in all honesty. If she were still alive, Phil wouldn't be this closed off, scared little thing anymore. He'd be talking to her at least.

"A little, but it's like pulling teeth." Steve sighs and rubs a hand over his head. Hershey's gotten bored of bug hunting, demanding attention from the kid, giving him big slobbery kisses, getting surprised happy laughter from him. He's a got a good smile, one he should wear more often.

"_Well, he's only been there a few weeks... Give him some time_?" Jim sounds harried, and Steve knows he should let his friend go, but he's not sure he wants to try another painfully awkward conversation with Phil. "_I'll come by at the end of the month. Look, Steve, if this really isn't working, I can-_"

"No you can't." Steve snaps. He knows what Jim was going to offer to do, and there's no way he's sending this poor kid off somewhere else. Getting him to open up will take time, it'll take patience, it won't be easy, but Steve's not pawning him off on someone else, the kid deserves better than that. "He's staying with me... I'll let you get on now, Jim."

"_Well alright, but the offer's there if you need it._" Steve hangs up, and takes a deep breath, intending to brave joining Phil and Hershey in the yard.

"So... What you drawing?" Steve sits down by Phil, not trying to glance at the pad tossed on the grass, whilst the kid mock wrestled Hershey.

"I don't know." The smile he's wearing from trying to avoid Hershey's licks hasn't moved, and really it does suit his face so much more than the awkward, nervous expression he's given to wearing.

"You don't know?" Steve laughs, and catches Hershey's tail, getting a mournful big brown-eyed stare from her, Phil taking advantage of her distraction to squirm out from under her.

"It's _supposed_ to be a representation of our _dreams_ but... I don't know what to draw." He sighs, tossing the pad to Steve, and letting Hershey settle herself half on top of him. "I keep starting and changing my mind." The page is covered in erased lines, random doodles around the edges, faces Steve doesn't know, random buildings, little cartoons, Phil's got some talent.

"They didn't start you off simple, huh?" Steve shakes his head; he's no idea what he'd draw either. He's no idea what his dreams are anymore. Once upon a time, it was two beautiful kids to go with his beautiful wife, then it was a house full of children, and he lived that dream for so long, but now, he's got no idea at all. Phil snorts, getting another lick form Hershey.

"Nope... I'm half-inclined to draw some dude sleeping in bed with an empty dream bubble coming out of his head." Phil's wearing an absent little scowl as he scratches behind Hershey's ear.

"I think I'd be called in to talk to your guidance counsellor if you did that." Steve laughs, and Phil turns to him with a slight grin.

"You'd cover for me, though?" He sounds hopeful, sounds like a little of his walls have been chipped away with this conversation, and Steve nods, just as hopeful that they have.

"God damn right I would! I'd tell them some bullshit like everyone's dreams are entirely subjective, so to try and capture them on paper is a futile endeavour. The best way to do it is to see what your own dreams are or something like that." The kid looks deeply impressed and Steve smirks at him. "What? You think I was nothing but a dumb redneck?" The kid looks away guiltily, and Steve laughs again. "I went to college. I got a degree. I just like playing in the mud more." Phil nods, and picks up the pad again, starting to draw something, a glance over reveals it to be Hershey hunting bugs. "Fuck it, draw your sleeping guy."

"Mr Austin?" He sounds horribly confused, and Steve smirks at him.

"Mr Brooks, draw your sleeping man, if the school want to say something bout it, I'll handle it. Ninety percent of the kids in the World don't know what they want. It's a fucking dumb thing to ask you to draw."

"Well, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you." Phil mutters turning to a new page in the pad. "Hold still." He says, clearly intending to make Steve the sleeping man in his picture. It's something Steve's not entirely comfortable with, but at least Phil's talking to him, opening up a tiny bit, so he'll endure being sketched in silence for a while at least.

"So, how long you been drawing?" Steve asks eventually, Phil shrugs, not really paying attention, focused instead on his work.

"Long as I can remember." He offers absently, glancing up, before turning back to the page. "Why?"

"No reason... Just making conversation. You like it?" Steve tries to sneak a peek at what Phil's drawn, but he moves round slightly, hiding the page.

"I liked it a lot better before people started telling me what and how I should do it." He glances up again, a _hint_ of fire in his eyes.

"Typical kid, no idea what you want, but every idea what you don't." Steve laughs, and Phil turns to Hershey with a smirk.

"Well, Miss Hershey, it seems your daddy doesn't want to eat tonight. I mean, if he did, he'd know better than to piss off the person who does the cooking, isn't that right?" Hershey wanders over to him, sitting down by him with a huff, and Steve can't help but laugh.

"Will an apology suffice to endear myself to your good graces once more, Mr Brooks?" Phil looks up at him, and scowls.

"Don't call me that... _Please_." There's more than a hint of pleading in his voice, more than a hint of desperation. Steve considers his options at that statement. He could try to push for an answer on why Phil doesn't want to be _Mr Brooks _so badly, or he could concede, or he could ask what the kid would prefer to be called.

"What should I call you then?" It seems like the easiest choice, putting the ball firmly in Phil's court, letting him have a sliver of control in the situation.

"Phil's fine." He mutters not looking up, his eyes focussed on the page. "Did you write back to those letters?" He asks after a while, his hand moving over the page carefully. Steve had drifted off into an odd daydream whilst the kid had been sitting drawing him, trying to think about what the hell they could do tomorrow.

"No... It's a hell of a lot of hassle just to write thank you a thousand times." Steve mutters, and Phil sucks air in through his teeth.

"They wrote you cause they were worried... It's only..." He sighs, glancing up. "I'm sure you were raised to be polite." Phil smirks, and Steve scowls at him.

"Smartass." He knows the kid's right, he needs to write back to all those letters, he just doesn't want to; it'll be like the final nail in her coffin if he does. If he acknowledges those letters with pen and paper, it'll be agreeing that she's gone, but he supposes he needs to do that, he needs to let her rest. "But you're right... I guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow." Steve sighs, and Hershey wanders over to him, sitting between him and Phil, making Phil glance up at her with a frown.

"I could help." He says moving so that the dog isn't in his way. "I mean... Lick envelopes, do addresses or something." Strangely, he sounds like he'd enjoy helping with such a dull menial task and Steve nods.

"You won't still have homework to do?" Phil's attention is back on the page, back with his drawing and he sighs.

"Probably... I think this school is trying to kill me, it's like every class has a ton of homework. You sure this is Texas and not China?" There's a grin on his face as he talks, and Steve's glad, he really does look much better with a smile on his face.

Nothing much of anything interesting happens over the rest weekend, Steve spends it writing letters, dozens of letters, and Phil does homework, he wasn't kidding when he said he had a lot, or writes out the envelopes. They don't really talk, and Steve has to admit he's slightly annoyed by that. He had wanted Phil to be more willing to open up to him, but spending time with the kid does seem to be chipping away at his shell, so Steve will be patient, there's little else he can be in all honesty. It's all a matter of waiting Phil's fear and uncertainty out. It's beginning to feel like it might take forever for that to happen though.

The third week begins and progresses much like the second, only Steve gets a call from the school about Phil's picture. Steve gives them the answer, or at least something close to it, that he gave Phil. The _blame _he takes onto himself and the school concedes easily enough. He asks how Phil's doing. He's quiet, but clever, uncertain of his place in the new school dynamic, but trying to fit in with the other kids who are seen as outcasts, is what he's told. It doesn't really surprised Steve that Phil's not joined the football team or something like that. He's not the type for those sort of things, the nerds and geeks, those are Phil's people and he's grateful that he's found them.

"I got a call from the school." When Steve speaks, Phil glances up nervously, his already huge eyes getting bigger.

"Oh?" He pushes at his food and Steve nods.

"I gave them the shtick, they fell for it too." He laughs, and Phil smiles at him, looking relieved.

"Good... Maybe you can think up some more shtick to feed this art teacher... She's the worst." He takes a bite of his food, and frowns. "It's like she has this weird idea that anyone who can draw should be this existential weirdo." Phil sighs, and Steve waits for him to keep going. He seems to be considering his words very carefully. "It's like she uses art as a form of therapy, and she expects everyone else to as well. I just like drawing..." He shakes his head, and laughs.

"You get on with the other teachers?" Steve tries to keep him talking, once Phil starts, sometimes he'll keep going, but more often than not, he'll clam up once he thinks he's said too much, like there's some kind of timer in his head for how long he's allowed to speak.

"They're _interesting_." He shrugs, finishing his food.

"Interesting?" Steve raises an eyebrow and wanders over to the fridge, pulling a pie he'd picked up at the store out. "I got dessert to celebrate getting one over on the school." He cuts Phil a slice, and sets it down in front of him. Phil takes a bite of the pie, and seems to be considering Steve question.

"They're very different to my old teachers... Not better, not worse, just different. It's all _different_." He sounds _slightly_ miserable, and Steve isn't sure how to cheer him up.

"Well, most everything is different to everything else." Steve shrugs, and Phil nods, a smile on his face.

"Very true, _Steve_." He says Steve's name tentatively, like he's expecting a reprimand, but all Steve does is nod at him, and the little smile the spreads over Phil's lips feels more like a victory than anything else that's happened today.

At the start of the fourth week of September, Steve tells Phil that Jim's coming over on Sunday. Phil seems to be out of sorts after being told that, the little steps they'd made over the last three weeks erased, _Mr Austin_ coming back as though they'd never progressed to _Steve_. He can't work out why Phil's so on edge about this, until he realises that he expects this to be some kind of test that he's going to fail. Over the rest of the week, Steve tries to get Phil to talk to him, tries to engage him in conversation about anything, but he mostly gets clipped answers or vague nods. The first time Phil seems to come out of his funk is on Saturday, when he tracks Steve down as he's working on some fences in a field.

"Mr Austin?" He comes closer and Steve has to hold the urge to correct him with _Steve_ in check.

"What is, son?" He's not got the heart to use _Mr Brooks_ again, Phil does seem to hate it, and if he wants this timid kid to open up to him, he needs to get in his good graces.

"I've no idea what Mr Ross eats." He leans against a post in the fence, watching Steve work, and try to puzzle out what the hell good Ol' Jim likes. "You need some help?" He asks eventually.

"Sure, grab some gloves and come hold this." Steve grins at the kid, holding a length of barbwire out to him. Phil pulls on a thick pair of gloves from the four-wheeler on, and grabs the wire.

"I figured he's a steak eater, but I dunno. There's no steak in the fridge." Steve nods at Phil, hammering a u-pin into the post to secure the wire in place.

"Well... I guess we should go to the store. We need groceries." Steve glances over at Phil, watching him nod, and move onto the next strand of wire that needs to be secured, holding it in place whilst Steve fixes it in its spot. "We'll finish up here, and then get off, kay?" Phil nods, and takes up the third strand of wire.

"You know..." He says quietly, not really looking at anything in particular. "I get bored up in the house all the time... Can I, I mean, would you mind if I came and helped out?" He sounds miserably tentative, and Steve chuckles.

"Course, plenty of work for you to do. Don't you worry bout being bored again." Steve laughs, and Phil nods, looking grateful.

"Thanks, Steve." He says quietly, and Steve doesn't really think there's anything to say to that. It's one of those little tiny baby steps in the right direction, that pushing Phil too far will make him take back. He misses his wife more than ever when it comes to Phil, she's have him eating out of her hand by now, not still trying to coax him into the house as it were.

The trip to the store was surprisingly entertaining, the Saturday queues annoying Phil as much as they did Steve, and by the time they'd escaped, they'd both agreed to never again go to the store on a Saturday. They'd gotten takeout, and ate whilst watching another ball game, Phil curled up on the couch with Hershey, Steve on his easy chair. It was perhaps the easiest, nicest evening they've ever spent together, and when Steve goes to bed that night, he feels accomplished.

Sunday sees Phil up early, getting started on whatever it is he'd decided to make Jim for dinner. He'd come down and helped with the fencing some more, a pleasantly light conversation about baseball had filled the air between them, but as the day wore on Phil became more and more closed off. By the time, dinner and Jim came around he'd been utterly silent for hours, and barely looked at anything or anyone that wasn't Hershey.

"I'll walk you out." Steve nods over to Jim, and Phil gathers the dishes, taking them to the sink and starting to wash them.

"Well, I see what you meant... He's a quiet thing, isn't he?" Jim sighs, and hands Steve another manila folder. "This is all I've got on him, there's not much more than the first one, and this is with as much question asking as I could. I'll stop by next month, I guess." Jim smiles awkwardly, and Steve takes the folder.

"He's getting chattier... It's slow going, but we'll get there." Steve doesn't voice his concerns that he's never going to get there with Phil, that there will always be something to chase him back into being afraid. He waves Jim off, and comes back into the house, taking the manila folder to his bedroom and tossing it on the bed. He's not entirely comfortable with it lying around somewhere Phil might see it. It feels like prying into Phil's private affairs, and he feels guilty about it.

"Will Mr Ross be back next month too?" Phil asks when Steve comes back to the kitchen, the dishes mostly washed, the pile waiting to be dried getting precariously high.

"He will." Steve grabs the dishcloth and starts drying. Phil nods; he seems as subdued as he did throughout dinner, his mind clearly elsewhere. "What's up, kid?" It's almost pointless to ask, Phil won't answer the question, he never seems willing to answer that question.

"Nothing." He says quietly, wiping down the counter beside the sink. "No... I... He had a folder with him." Phil pulls an odd face, and turns to look at Steve. "Like the one they had on me..." He sighs, squaring his shoulders. "If you want to know something, you could ask." Steve stares at him, stares at the misery on his face, and he catches Phil's shoulders, pulling him into an awkward hug that he fights out of quickly. He plasters himself against the island, his eyes wide and _scared_.

"Phil..." Steve stares at him, and he shakes his head. "Shh, Phil, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." Steve's not entirely sure what's wrong, but he can take a guess, and the thought makes his blood boil. Someone in Illinois has hurt this kid, has terrified him, and Steve wants to find this person and _gut_ them.

"I... I know, it's fine... Good night." Phil all but runs from the room, and Steve sighs, glancing at Hershey for a few seconds before the dog leaves, following Phil. He's glad she's going to comfort him, because Steve's not in the mind set for it. There's the urge to hit something, the urge to phone Jim in a rage and demand more answers, but there's nothing to be gained from either action. There's nothing this futile rage can do for either him or Phil.

_He's scared, my rattlesnake. He's so very afraid, so very hurt, and you have to be patient with him._

He can hear her so clearly, can almost feel her warmth against his back, can almost smell her perfume in the air.

_Wait him out, encourage him to take baby steps. Tomorrow's another day, my rattlesnake, we'll start again then. He'll be okay you'll see._

Tomorrow is another day, and it's damn near another month. Steve hopes that October goes better than September, hopes the words he can imagine his wife saying are right, because this a _struggle_.

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**_plebs, Shiki94, Brokenspell77, Rebellecherry, AshJoivillette, littleone1389 and WWEfangirl31_**

_Your reviews have all been very encouraging - I apologise for the delay on this chapter and hope it was somewhat worth the wait. Life is being less of a bitch to me this week, which is nice cause the last two weeks... Aiya...:'(_

_Still kind of nervous with this one, so__ if there's anything incredibly squiffy PM me and lemme know, okay? :)_

**Needless to say... I'm _more_ than interested in your thoughts, so please do review!**


	3. October

**Warnings**: AU, Implied Child Abuse. **Eventual** **Warnings**: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Profanity, Age difference.

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><p>The rest of September is slow going. Phil doesn't say much of anything; it almost gets to the point where Steve is beginning to think things are worse than when he first arrived. The second manila folder stays on the dresser in his room, taunting him, as much as he wants to read the folder, to find out as much as he can, he can't help but remember Phil telling to ask him if there was something Steve wanted to know. It's a problem, but like so many problems that are Phil related, it's not something with an easy solution.<p>

_You have to be patient, my rattlesnake. He'll come around._

It's like a mantra in Steve's head. The soft voice of his wife reminding him to be patient with Phil, reminding him that he's scared, so very scared, and that it'll take him time to be brave enough to let Steve in even a little.

The first week of October is as tense and awkward, Phil is even more of a ghost, and Steve has no idea what to do with him. Its Friday already and there's been no progress from the miserably infuriating Sunday Jim had been there. Steve can feel frustration building, but not with Phil, it's all aimed at himself. He should be better at this by now, he should be better at putting terrified children at ease than he is.

He's back out working on the fencing when he sees Phil slowly making his way up the track to the house. His stance is tired, like the weight of the World is pressing down on his shoulders, Hershey running around him excitedly. Steve had wondered where she'd gotten to, but it seems she'd gone to wait for Phil at the end of the track. She's about the only living being Phil seems willing to spend time with, so Steve waits, giving the kid time to get into the house before making his way up. The whole house seems deserted, and there's a brief moment of panic that Phil has run away that has Steve moving quickly from room to room trying to find him. Eventually he finds Hershey sitting in a hallway in front of an open bathroom door.

"Phil... What the hell happened to you?" The kid is dabbing at a cut over his eyebrow, a tense look of concentration that's jolted from his face at Steve's words.

"Dodged left instead of right." He says calmly, returning to dabbing the blood from his face. "It's nothing." He shrugs, and Steve comes into the bathroom.

"Turn round, lemme see." The kid does as Steve asks, and he holds his hand out, waiting for Phil to hand him the damp wad of toilet paper he's using to clean his face into it. The cut is small, and the bruising around it gives away that it was made by a fist. "So... What happened?" Phil glances away, tension obvious in his stance. Slowly, so he doesn't spook Phil, Steve takes a hold of his chin and starts gently wiping the last of the blood away, examining the damage. It's the only wound on the kid's face, and Steve wonders if he can expect a call from the school soon, clearly a teacher must have broken the fight up. It's then that it occurs to him that he's still holding Phil's chin and he lets go. Phil meets his eyes surprisingly easily, like he'd expected to be punished and is surprised but happy that Steve hasn't at least scolded him.

"Some jock decided to try and teach me a lesson." Phil's voice is soft, but kind of _smug_. "He got lucky with the first hit." A hint of a smirk rests on his lips, and Steve stares at him. "What? I'm from the city... One small town jock is nothing compared to what I was dodging in the halls." He laughs and Steve shakes his head. It's by and far the most he's heard from Phil in days, so even if he is getting a call from the school, Steve can't bring himself to be too annoyed, anything that has Phil talking is a good thing.

"How bad's the other guy?" He asks, opening the cabinet on the wall and taking out a tube of anti-septic.

"Nothing on the face... His ribs won't be thanking him for messing with me for a few days." The touch of smugness remains in Phil's voice, and Steve laughs. He _knows_ he should be disciplining Phil right now, but he can't not when he sounds almost happy.

"What stopped it?" He considers if he should put the cream on or let Phil do it himself. He doesn't like being touched, that much Steve has concluded from how he fought out of that awkward hug, but it's the sort of kindness his wife would perform before sending a kid to him to get their punishment. He often wondered what she'd say to kids when she was patching them up after the depressingly regular fights some of them would get into. These tough inner-city kids coming to him all contrite and genuinely sorry was always strange, but she'd had a way with words, and he'd always made the punishment fit the crime. He's no idea what to do on his own, can't even think of a punishment for Phil.

"His friends." Phil shrugs, his eyes downcast, letting Steve dab the cream into the wound. "I think there was a lesson learned, just not the one he wanted to teach." The hint of a smirk flits back to Phil's lips, and Steve shakes his head. There's really nothing he can say to this, he'd kind of _proud_, but he knows he shouldn't be.

"You know..." Steve caps the tube of cream, and sits on the edge of the tub with a heavy sigh. He needs to meet out some discipline, but the drooping of Phil's shoulders makes him want to skip it entirely.

"I shouldn't have punched him back?" Phil asks, turning back to the mirror, something contrite on his face. "I know... But if you make a _strong_ first impression, it usually makes people leave you alone. I made the mistake of turning the other cheek one too many times before." He adds quietly, and Steve sighs, standing and clapping him on the shoulder lightly, watching him cringe slightly.

"I should be pissed, but..." Steve leaves the little bathroom, and pauses in the hall. "But, I'm buying pizza for dinner, something Chicago style, and you're gonna tell me where you learned to fight." The sound of Phil laughing is gloriously unexpected, but thoroughly welcome.

That weekend, Steve decides Phil's punishment will be something the kid probably isn't expecting in the least. He gets up early, dressed warm and cosy. The plan is something incredibly odd, even to Steve, but it'll _hopefully_ be fun.

"Morning." Steve hands Phil a cup of coffee when he comes shuffling into the kitchen, talking low and soft to Hershey about the call-in show he'd fallen asleep to last night.

"Steve?" He sounds surprised, his shock making him forget to remember to call Steve Mr Austin, and Steve grins at him.

"Go put more clothes on kiddo. We're going out for breakfast." Steve laughs at the confused expression on Phil's face. Hershey looks at Steve, and he points to her food bowl. She huffs, unimpressed with the idea of dog food for breakfast and Phil smiles slightly. "You spoil her. She resents getting nothing but dog food now." Steve laughs, and Phil shrugs, finishing his coffee.

"I figured I'd be getting punished for beating up a guy, not pizza for dinner and breakfast out..." He mutters, and Steve laughs taking the empty cup from Phil's hands.

"Warm as you can, Phil, it's gonna be cold." The kid shakes his head and leaves the kitchen, going back to his room, coming back bundled up in more clothes, looking like he'd gained five pounds because of the layers.

"So where _are_ we going?" Phil asks, following Steve out to the truck, climbing into the back with Hershey.

"You can sit up front, you know." Steve says, starting to drive. In the rear-view mirror Steve can see that Hershey has wriggled over to Phil, her head in his lap, looking far happier to be in the truck than usual.

"She's scared of the truck... It has _bad_ memories. She'll be happier to have someone with her." Phil says softly, and Steve supposes he'll take the kid's word for it. He clearly has plenty of bad memories of his own, so he must know a thing or two about dealing with them. "Where _are_ we going?" Phil asks again after Steve takes a different turn, heading in the opposite direction from town. Steve laughs, but doesn't answer. It's a surprise and he doesn't want to spoil it. Hershey suddenly sits up, her tail wagging, and Phil seems even more confused.

"Miss Hershey knows where we're going, don't you little lady?" The dog turns to Steve, and tries to clamber into the front, getting caught and pulled back by Phil before she can make it. "Dogs don't ride shotgun, Wonder Dog, you know that." Steve chides her, and she settles beside Phil, licking his face excitedly.

"You're taking me off somewhere to murder me, aren't you?" Phil asks suddenly, and Steve laughs again. The kid has a weird thought process.

"Nope, not killing you yet." Steve laughs, and Phil snorts.

"_He's not killing me because he knows he'd have to cook for himself if he did, Hershey._" Phil loud whispers to the dog and Steve meets his eyes in the mirror. "Isn't that right, Steve?" Steve grins at the kid, at the subtle confidence in the way he said Steve's name.

"Well... You're a good little cook, Phil. A fine culinary career awaits you." Phil laughs, and Steve can't keep the grin from his lips. It's always good to hear his sullen little charge laugh; he's got a good laugh, the kind of laugh that makes you want to laugh along with him.

"Regular Gordon Ramsey." Phil mutters, and Steve laughs again, the sound of Phil chuckling at his own joke is beyond welcomed.

"We're here." Steve parks, and Phil stares out the window, Hershey wriggling over him, scratching frantically at the window, wanting out desperately. Steve hops out, and opens the door for her, almost getting knocked over in her excitement. She's always been far too fond of swimming; the sight of her charging head first into the lake has Phil laughing.

"We going to get Hershey to catch us breakfast? Cause if we are, I think we're going to starve." Phil laughs as he watches the dog, paddling around like she was still a pup.

"Oh no." Steve takes the tackle box from the bed of the truck and hands it to Phil, before picking up two rods. "We're doing the catching. What you catch, you eat." Steve grins, and Phil pales.

"I've never fished..." He mutters, squinting out at the lake.

"Well, better get good quick, Phil, better get good quick." Steve starts for the jetty, where his little rowboat is tied up waiting for him. "You been in a boat before?" He asks, taking the tackle box from Phil, his skin even paler.

"Once... It was _bigger_ than this..." Steve holds his hand out to the kid, not sure if he'll take it or not. It's a surprise when he does, and sits, huddled in the middle of one the narrow benches, looking mildly panicked. Steve rows in silence, laughing when Hershey swims alongside the boat, trying to clamber in, her face appearing over the edge of the boat as she tries to comfort Phil. At least that's what Steve assumes she's doing, because the kid looks freaked out, and Hershey is clearly very attached to Phil.

"Hershey, you're gonna sink us." Phil tells her when she manages to get one paw onboard. She lets herself flop back in the water and swims off, coming back with a stick that she manages to toss to Phil with some kind of strange head jerk. Phil takes the stick, and looks at her. "Is she always like this in the water?" He asks nervously, and Steve isn't sure how to answer, usually she ignores Steve when he's fishing, paddling around the lake, or going on rabbit hunting expeditions. She's clearly worried about their charge, and is showing it in the only way she can.

"She likes you." Steve shrugs, and Phil glances up at him, turning the stick over in his hands. "You look like you might puke, and she's trying to help." Phil laughs and turns to the still paddling dog. Steve stops rowing, deciding this spot is good for fishing, dragging the tackle box closer.

"Thank you Miss Hershey, but how about you take this stick back, hmm?" Phil asks her, and she yelps excitedly. Steve's sure he's never seen her so taken with a kid before, clearly the way to Hershey's heart is through her stomach. "I'll take that as a yes." Phil flings the stick, and Hershey takes off after it as best she can. "She'll scare the fish away won't she?" Phil asks, and Steve shakes his head, Hershey has sense, and she'll get tired of swimming soon enough.

"Over there." Sure enough, Hershey has fetched her stick, set it down by the truck and hopped into the flat bed to have a nap. "She'll come fetch us when she's bored or hungry." Steve smiles at Phil, and opens the box, half hoping the worms he'd dug up this morning gross Phil out, but relieved when all Phil does is ask how to tie them to the line.

They end up spending all day out at the lake, making a little fire to roast the few fish they managed to catch. Steve was pleasantly surprised by how quickly Phil learnt how to fish. The first fish he'd landed he'd asked Steve to take a photo of him holding to send to his friends back in Chicago. It'd been the first time Phil had said anything relating to Chicago, but it hadn't felt like the time to pry, so Steve had been taught how take a picture, and snapped one of a beaming Phil holding a fish that was all of seven inches long.

Once they'd gotten back from the lake, Phil's as close to chatty as he seems to get. He hadn't hidden himself in his room at least. In fact, he'd sat and watched TV with Steve. It had been a surprise that they had similar tastes in shows, so it had been easy enough to find something to watch until Phil had fallen asleep on the couch. Steve had shaken him awake, and sent him off to bed. Steve falling asleep to the imagined sound of his wife's voice telling him he did good today.

Sunday sees Phil doing homework for most of the day, a pile so big that it looks like it's going to give him carpal tunnel syndrome. He baked brownies though, and Steve had sat and eaten so many of them he could barely move. He'd forgotten how good those brownies were. At dinner, Phil had tentatively asked if the weather was okay next weekend, if Steve would mind taking him fishing again, and Steve had been on the back foot, managing nothing more than a pleased but surprised _of course_.

Monday's breakfast had been as equally _pleasant_, Phil's good mood remaining, and Steve glad that there's finally _something_ that's chipped a hole in the walls around the kid. Once Phil's gone for the day, Steve waits. He knows that there's going to be something to chase Phil back behind his walls. It always happens. Steve makes a tiny amount of progress, something spooks Phil, and he retreats.

"You Steve Austin?" When a burly man pulls up at the ranch sometime in the afternoon, Steve's not exactly sure what the guy wants. He looks like he's from town, but who the hell he is, Steve doesn't know.

"I am." Steve approaches the man with caution; Hershey sleeping on the veranda ignores him in favour of chasing rabbits in her dreams.

"You got one of them _delinquents_ staying here again?" The man asks, and Steve supposes this is the father of the boy who tried to beat up Phil.

"What's this here all about?" Steve doesn't answer, he's not a man given to humouring rhetorical questions.

"That city brat beat up my boy." The man snarls, and Steve nods absently. "I want some retribution."

"From a kid? He's at school." Steve sighs, shaking his head. "Did you ask your boy who started the whole thing, _son_?" It's a cheap blow, a subtle reminder that this man is on Steve's property, threatening his _family_. Steve knows he's got a bit of a reputation in town from when he was still drinking in the bar. A reputation for being a man that doesn't suffer fools kindly, a man that's quite content to let his fist do the talking when dealing with them.

"Well... The way I heard it, your punk-kid attacked my boy for no reason." The man fidgets, he might be taller and heavier than Steve, but he's clearly heard the reputation.

"Your boy's on the football team?" Steve asks calmly, stepping a little closer.

"Yes, sir. Quarterback, damn proud of him." The man beams, and Steve's in no doubt that he is damn proud of his son. In Steve's mind he can picture the man's kid easily, something big and dumb as a post, thinking he can assert his dominance by attacking something that looks weaker. Fool kid probably had no idea why no one else hadn't tried their luck with Phil yet, because Phil looks _fragile_, all lanky limbs, and sullen silence. Steve's guessing the other bullies noticed the fact that Phil is one of those scrappy alley cats, the sort of animal that has to fight for every breath, the sort of animal that you don't mess with, no matter how _fragile_ they seem.

"He's none too academic though, is he?" Steve smirks at the man, and he blushes, his ears turning red.

"I don't see how that's any matter." The man growls, and Steve shrugs, walking around the man's truck.

"Have you seen my Philip?" Steve asks, coming to stand in front of the man. "Bout this big." Steve hold a hand in the air, at what he estimates Phil's height to be, the man's eyes narrow. "Weighs less than a hundred pounds soaking wet." The man steps back, scowling. "I don't think he's going to be picking any fights with quarter backs." Steve smiles brightly, and the man glares. "Now, hows about you get off my property, and you and your meathead boy leave my family alone?"

"This isn't over." The man grumbles, getting in his truck. Steve slams the cab door behind him, leaning against it.

"Yes it is." He sneers. "You tell your boy to leave my Phil alone, and I won't come and break your fingers." Steve smiles genially, and the man nods tightly, swallowing heavily. The truck tears off up the track, and Hershey trots along after it. Steve glances down at his watch, noting that the school bus will be there soon. Sure enough, just as the truck pulls out of the drive, the bus pulls over. In the distance, it's hard to make out the thin figure of Phil, only made harder when he stoops to greet Hershey who's made it up the track in record time to welcome him home.

"Who was that?" Phil calls once he's close enough to the house for Steve to hear, and Steve considers carefully what he should say. It might be a bad idea to tell Phil that he had a visit from the father of the kid who tried to beat him up, but on the other hand it might make him happy to know that Steve's looking out for him.

"That kid's dad." Steve goes with the truth. If he wants Phil to be open and honest with him, he's going to have to start the ball rolling in the right direction.

"Oh..." Phil looks incredibly small, his shoulders curled in, his hands in his pockets.

"Put the fear of Steve into him." Steve laughs, and opens the front door of the house. "C'mon, I'll make some coffee, and you can get started on the homework I know is in that bag of yours."

The rest of the week is uneventful, no more unexpected visitors, and a trip to the store for groceries on Friday night are essentially the highlights. Steve had found that Phil is damn good at guessing who the murderer is in cop dramas, so they'd taken to watching old murder mystery shows once they'd finished their chores for the night. Phil had seemed keen to get to helping more on the ranch, so the fencing had finally been finished, and Steve had found himself fielding all manner of questions on what was going in the fields. He'd not really decided, and he'd absently asked Phil what he'd like to try his hand at growing. That had led to a conversation that had felt more like a lesson on farming than Steve had expected. Phil's a smart kid, and like so many smart kids before him, he was thirsty for knowledge, drinking up all Steve could offer and then going to work on one of the many books that filled the one bookcase in the den.

Saturday morning sees another deluge, so their fishing plans, and any real outdoors work is postponed. Steve finds himself at a loss for what to do, but Phil's commandeered the kitchen table, covering it with the books that make up his never-ending supply of homework.

"Do they actually make you do anything in class?" Steve asks, thumbing through a maths textbook, wincing as his brain half-heartedly tries to remember algebra.

"Uh-huh." Phil nods, his attention caught by what he's writing, covering page after page with his loopy, spidery script.

"Then why the hell is all this for home?" Steve gives up, and sets the textbook down, starting a pot of coffee.

"There's some cookies on the counter. I tried out a new recipe this morning. I'm not sure about it." Phil doesn't look up, and Steve turns to look at him. He's an industrious little thing really, and the cookie jar hasn't been empty since he discovered Steve liked his chocolate chip cookies.

"New recipe? You make some of the old ones too?" Steve grabs a plate, setting some of the cookies on it.

"Should be some in the jar." Phil's still writing, and Steve makes an agreeing noise. He's sure he's not eaten them all yet. Hershey pads over to him, looking interested in what Steve's doing and he shakes his head at her.

"No chocolate for you, girl. It's bad for dogs." Steve carries the plate over to the table, and Phil moves some books out of the way, clearing a space for it.

"There's some cookies for her in the cupboard with her food, in the tupperware box." Steve laughs at Phil, and he finally looks up, a slight smile on his face. "She always looks so sad that she can't have cookies... So I found a recipe for her." He grins, going back to his writing when Steve chuckles at him.

"You're getting spoiled, Miss Hershey. _Spoiled_." Steve fishes out one of the dog cookies, and sniffs it. "What are these things?" It smells damn good, like the sort of expensive crackers you buy at Christmas.

"Cheese and herb. I've a recipe for fish ones too... But I'll wait till we can catch some ourselves before making those. If this rain _ever_ stops." Phil scowls out of the window, and stands, bringing two mugs over to the table. "_Stupid rain_." He mutters under his breath, and Steve carries the coffee pot, and Hershey's cookie over, taking his seat, watching as Hershey keeps her eyes trained on the treat in his hand.

"Sit. Shake hands, and say _please_, Hershey." Steve tells her, getting an eager paw, and an even more eager yip from the dog. "Good girl." The cookie is taken rapidly, and she trots over to Phil, as though keen to tell the chef what she thinks as soon as possible. "So, what are these ones then chef?" Steve pours Phil a mug of coffee, and Phil finally closes the book he's writing in, adding it to the completed pile.

"Salted caramel and chocolate. I'm not too good with caramel, so it might be a little..." He trails off, and takes one of the cookies. "I dunno, be honest, okay?" He asks, nervously nibbling at his cookie, a slow smile spreading over his lips.

"They good?" Steve asks, Phil looks decidedly pleased with himself, and Steve takes a big bite of the cookie he'd just grabbed. "Damn... Kid, you're a _fine_ little baker." Steve devours the rest of his cookie, going in for seconds, that he's certain will become fourths.

"They're not too bad, huh?" Phil sounds rather pleased with himself, and grabs the next book in the pile to be completed.

It's still raining come Sunday, and Phil complains bitterly once more at the weather. He'd finished his homework yesterday, and now they're both faced with the problem of having nothing to do.

"How bout we watch movies, eat popcorn, and drink-"

"I don't drink." Phil interrupts Steve, and Steve laughs at him. If he's honest he's not had a beer since he saw Jim last, he's not really felt the need to, but he has to admit that he's surprised Phil's telling him this. It makes him wonder even more about the world Phil grew up in, that he feels the need to say he doesn't _drink_ saddens Steve more than he'd like to admit.

"I was going to say soda, but its cold, so I could make some coffee." Steve smiles over at Phil, and the kid fidgets.

"Sure... Though, popcorn and coffee? Bad combo." He mutters, heading for the pots, and Steve shoos him out of the kitchen.

"I can make popcorn, scoot! Go pick out a movie." Steve smirks at the dubious look on Phil's face, and grabs the big pot, filling it with kernels and a little oil.

"Don't burn down the house... We need it for sleeping in." Phil calls as he leaves, laughing to himself.

When Steve finishes in the kitchen, the house is still standing, and Phil has dragged one of the blankets from his bed through to the couch, curled up under it with Hershey sitting beside him, trying to work out how she can get in on the blanket action too.

"Fistful of Dollars?" Steve's surprised by Phil's choice, but he can't say he minds. He likes The Man with No Name Trilogy, but it was his wife's favourite. He's not watched it since she passed, and he's hoping that he doesn't start thinking about her too much, or he's going to have to explain why he's crying to Phil. Steve still hasn't really talked about her yet, can't really seem to think of a reason to tell his little charge about the woman he loved and lost. It's always a conversation that'll keep, there's no point in adding Steve's sob story to Phil's already difficult life.

"Few Dollars More?" Phil asks once the movie's done, and Steve nods, going to make more popcorn and grab something else to drink. It's only when he's in the kitchen that he realises that he watched the whole movie without thinking about her once. The whole time he'd been _bantering_ with Phil, making jokes, laughing at what Phil was saying. He can't help but think he's somehow betraying her.

_My dopey rattlesnake... What am I going to do with you?_

He can hear her laughing at him, can see her in his mind, rolling her eyes and smiling.

_You're bonding with him, it's good! Has he ever laughed this much since he's been here? Has he ever looked as relaxed as he has these last few hours? You're doing a good job._

Steve closes his eyes, and sighs. He is doing a good job, he's making good progress with Phil, he knows he is.

"This was my wife's favourite of the three." Steve says casually as he sets the popcorn down on the table between them, handing Phil a can of soda.

"Oh?" Phil turns to him, looking surprised."Were they... I mean... I..." He looks helpless briefly and Steve takes a handful of popcorn.

"She liked Lee Van Cleef's suit, wanted me to dress up as him on Halloween every year." Steve laughs, and is amazed he can. He'd expected this to hurt badly, but it doesn't, it's like sharing her somehow, it's like giving Phil a little piece of the woman he loved so much, and it feels _good_.

"Well, it's a damn nice suit." Phil says softly, like he understands that this should be painful for Steve, like he expects this conversation to be rapidly called to a halt. "We can wat-"

"You wanna make dinner after this one? Eat it with The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?" Steve interrupts Phil, he wants to see this movie, he wants to hear what Phil has to say about it, he wants to hear the sound of his little houseguest laughing again, because it's a good laugh, the kind of laugh you want to hear every day.

The week flies by, nothing-untoward happening, and Steve almost at a loss with what to do with himself. He'd felt out of sorts since he'd sat and watched those movies with Phil, had watched his wife's favourite movies with only thoughts of how good it was to be bonding with Phil. He feels strangely like he's doing something he shouldn't, and if she were there, she'd be laughing her ass off at him. He goes to visit her grave in the middle of the week; she's buried under a big tree down by the creek. She'd loved that part of the ranch, had loved how in the spring the blossom on the tree smelled incredible, had loved swinging in the old tyre swing on one of the branches. He's spent hours talking to her, had left flowers for her, had told her all about Phil, and how he and Hershey were almost inseparable. He'd lost his bed warmer to Phil at some stage during the month, Hershey opting to leave earlier and earlier, until she just claimed a spot on the end of Phil's bed as her own. He doesn't resent it, he can't resent it, but his bed feels so big and empty without some other living being in it with him, even if it is just his dog. When Steve had gotten back to the ranch house, Phil was home, and making dinner. It was a weird feeling, coming home to house filled with delicious smells. He'd been struck with a horrible wave of déjà vu, especially when Phil had asked him how the cattle were doing. Walking into the ranch house that day had felt more like coming home to Steve, than it had in over a year.

That weekend the weather is clear, and Phil is unreasonably excited at the prospect of going fishing again. Steve agrees that they'll go Sunday. He needs to talk to Phil about a few things, things that he's probably not going to like, so Steve wants to put it off as long as possible. He's decided that out on the boat is the best place to bring up awkward topics. There's very little out there to distract Phil, and nowhere for him to go, it's possibly unfair, but Steve thinks it's for the best, and the kid has a mountain of homework that needs to be done before Monday. So Saturday, Steve devotes to replying to the newest bundle of letters he has, and Phil devotes to writing his considerable amount of homework.

"So... What you wanna do for your birthday?" Steve asks, glancing over at Phil, watching him carefully tying a new worm to the end of his rod. They've been in the middle of the lake for a little while, and Steve thinks it's time to start in with the topics of conversation he needs to have.

"My birthday?" Phil looks over at him, and shrugs. "It's not important." He casts the line, and watches the water, his eyes distant. "I don't really remember ever _celebrating_ it much." Steve stares at him, at the sombre set to his shoulders, feeling his heart clench. Phil parents, Steve decides in that moment, are scum. Phil's a good kid, a sweet, charming, funny kid; he deserves so much more than the hand he's been dealt.

"Sixteen's a big year, kid." Steve casts his own line, and holds back the urge to hug Phil. He looks like he needs a hug, but he's not forgotten how poorly he reacted to the one time Steve attempted to hug him.

"It's just another day." Phil shrugs again, twitching his rod slightly, trying to entice the fish into biting. He's learnt how to fish quickly, Steve wonders if he'd enjoy learning how to fly fish, learning about different lures, and rod techniques, it might be something to consider.

"I meet my wife at her sixteenth birthday party." Steve says conversationally. It's true enough; he had met her then, back when he was dating some girl on the cheer squad. He can't say it had been love at first sight, but they'd gotten on well enough, and had grown closer and closer. "You like drawing, right? Or I could get you some clothes... There has to be something you want, Phil." Steve mutters, he'd known this wouldn't be a fun topic of conversation, and this isn't even the one he's really been putting off.

"You're not gonna let this go, huh?" Phil turns to him, a full-blown smirk on his face. It's a welcome addition to the range of facial expressions Steve's seen the kid wear. "Bake me a cake and be done with it." He twitches his line again, grinning when he starts reeling it in, landing a fine start to breakfast.

"Well, I can buy you one." Steve laughs and nudges Phil's shoulder, the kid tenses at the casual contact, but relaxes quickly enough.

"Ah... Good point, we don't want you baking." He mutters, securing a new worm to his hook. "You're having no luck this morning." Phil smiles at Steve, and it's true enough, nothing's been biting for Steve at all. There's a long period of comfortable silence between them for a while, then Phil sighs, fidgeting. "Some paint." He says quietly, turning to look at Steve. "I'd like some water colours and one of those water colour books, the ones with the thick pages so it doesn't bleed." Steve nods at him.

"That I can do." Finally, a fish is tempted by Steve's worm, and he lands a good-sized addition to their catch. It feels like fate is smiling at him, a reward for having cracked a little more of Phil's considerable shell.

"That's not alls you wanted to say, is it?" Phil asks, turning back to the lake, and Steve sighs. "Mr Ross is coming on my birthday?"

"No... I got him to come Saturday instead." Steve says quietly, he _hopes_ this visit doesn't have Phil freaking out again. Jim isn't going to take Phil away, not before this year is up, Steve won't let him, so there's nothing to worry about. "I know... The last time Jim came over, Phil... You clammed right up, and we seem to be getting on pretty well right now." Steve sighs again, not sure how to proceed with this.

"You think he'd like more steak? We'd need to buy some at the store, but I dunno... I think we should make him be a little more _adventurous._" Phil grins over at Steve, and Steve glances at him, grinning back.

"_Adventurous_ you say?" Steve hopes this is Phil assuring him that this time he's not worried, that this time he gets that this isn't something he needs to panic about, Jim's a friend, and he's coming to dinner, that's all it is.

"I was thinking maybe something Asian... I've been reading some of the cookbooks, and there's this interesting recipe for a prawn salad with pomelo. I think it'd do some good for Mr Ross to have more salad." Steve laughs, and nods.

"I got no idea what the fuck a pomelo is, but if we can find the damned thing, we're serving Good Ol' JR some Asian salad. We gonna get a whole theme going? I think there's some chopsticks somewhere in the basement." Phil laughs at Steve's suggestoin, and Steve's certain that's he's going to be looking out those chopsticks next week.

Over the week, Steve finds the chopsticks, and Phil makes up the rest of the menu for their Asian inspired feast, along with giving lessons on how to use the chopsticks to Steve. It had been much easier to master once Phil had explained that a more simple method of using them was treating them like a pair of scissors. Once Steve had the hang of it, he'd practiced using them for everything, fishing cookies out of the jar with a pair, to the amusement of Phil.

Wednesday sees Steve entering a place he'd never been before, the art supplies store on the main street in the town. The little old lady behind the counter reminds him of an owl, all big eyes and a hooked beak of a nose, her mouth waspishly small.

"Can I help you?" Her voice is oddly deep, and it only adds to the impression that she is an owl.

"Well, ma'am... I think you can." Steve walks up to the counter and knows he looks out of his depth, but he really is. He knows what Phil asked for, he'd memorised it in the boat, written it down when he'd gotten home on the pad of paper in his bedroom, the pad beside the still unread manila folder, but now that he's here, he's forgotten everything.

"Well, with what?" The owl woman asks again, and Steve fishes in his pants pocket for the slip of paper with Phil's request on it.

"Water colours." He smiles at her, and the woman's eyebrows rise. "And a pad of paper for them... And some brushes too." Phil might not have asked for them, but painting requires brushes, and Steve wants him to be able to enjoy his gift.

"You don't strike me as an artist, sir." The owl woman says coolly, and Steve laughs.

"Not at all, ma'am... They're for my..." Steve pauses; he's not sure how to describe Phil to this old woman. He's not really Steve's son, he's more like his charge, but that's not a very flattering way to put it.

"Oh now... I think I recognise you from the paper." The old woman adjusts her glasses. "You and wife, god rest her soul, you run that little house for strays, right?" She smiles, and she looks less like a crotchety old owl and more like a nice friendly one. He's not sure Phil would approve of being called a stray, but Steve's made the comparison many times in his head. "I thought you'd shut your doors." She moves from behind the counter, and wanders over to the paints.

"I did, ma'am, but I was talked into taking on one more kid." Steve smiles awkwardly.

"Oh! The new boy at the school? My daughter has been telling me about him. Talented little thing, but not very impressed with her teaching methods." The old woman laughs, and begins squinting at her own wares. "I can't say I blame him... These _new_ art teaching methods..." She sneers, and Steve has the feeling this old woman and Phil would have a very interesting conversation. "She showed me some of his work, had a rant about how he missed the point of the exercise." The old woman scoffs. "Beautiful composition, good eye for a line, needs to work on his shading, textures, and proportions. I told her, that's what you need to tell the boy, not tell him he's missing the point of the exercise. I thought it was rather witty myself." She laughs and hands Steve a box, setting a packet of brushes down on top of it.

"That wouldn't be an exercise in drawing dreams would it?" Steve asks, and the old woman laughs, turning to him with a grin.

"It would indeed." She then moves to the pads of paper. "Which size?" Steve stares at her, and she shakes her head. "Hmm... Talented little thing like that boy should get a choice." She picks out a small pad, then a slightly larger one, and finally a huge one, carrying them over to the counter herself. "This is for his birthday, I'm guessing?" She asks, and Steve nods, not really sure what to say. "Well, let me wrap it up for him. That'll be hmm... We'll call fifty dollars. I can't stand to see talent going to waste." She laughs and picks up some gift-wrap from under the counter.

"Here you go, ma'am." It seems like a lot, but Steve had seen the price tags on the front of the displays. These things are expensive, even a pencil is costly in this little store. The old lady slips the fifty in the cash register, and starts wrapping. "You were an art teacher then?" Steve asks, watching the owl lady as she swiftly wraps the items up. He'd taken her comments on her daughter with the impression that back in her day things were quite different.

"Oh... A good forty years I was an art teacher... Well, I suppose I still am." She laughs. "If he's interested in getting some real advise, do have your little stray contact me." She smiles wistfully. "Talent at his age is rather like a candle." She starts bagging up the wrapped items. "My daughter is, by the school's standard, a fine teacher, but she's not what someone like your?" She makes it question, and Steve smiles awkwardly.

"His name's Phil, ma'am." Steve supplies reluctantly, this old owl has been very kind so far, he's no reason to suspect she means any harm.

"Phil? Short for Philip? A nice strong name... You know the Queen of England is married to a Philip, he's from Greece." Steve blinks at her in confusion, and she smiles vaguely.

"Well, my Philip is from Chicago." Steve feels slightly strange calling Phil _his_, but he supposes that for all intents and purposes, he kind of is.

"Chicago? My... That poor dear is far from home." She frowns, and Steve nods, feeling even more uncomfortable. "Oh yes! Sorry, I got distracted. If he'd like some tutoring in how to improve his technique, have him pop in and see me. My daughter has a terrible habit of blowing the candle of children's talents out." She hands Steve the bag, and pauses suddenly, going to one of the other shelves and picking up a pencil. "It's a softer lead, it'll improve his shading." She smiles, and Steve pockets the pencil.

"I'll certainly suggest he comes and sees you ma'am... I think he'd do well being taught technique rather than counselled by your daughter." The woman laughs at Steve, and he almost hopes that Phil takes this odd owl woman up on her offer. He thinks Phil would like her.

Thursday night they'd gone on a grand shopping spree, managing to find the pomelo, and Steve had been shocked at the size of the thing. It looked like a huge grapefruit, and Phil had assured him that it was much smaller once the peel was off. He'd then gone on a slightly rambling tangent about candying or marmalade-ing the peel that had Steve grinning. Now that Phil's growing more comfortable around him, Steve's beginning to notice that the kid does kind of have the habit of just talking to fill the air. It's like Phil forgets that there's someone else there and instead of thinking his thoughts, he says them. It's a curiously sweet habit, and Steve has been getting kind of used to listening to it, Phil's _real_ accent comes through more when he rambles like that, and it is, if nothing else, a sign that he's getting more comfortable. They'd also stopped in that the Chinese restaurant and bought dozens of fortune cookies, the hostess had been very confused, but Steve learned that night that Phil can be _very_ charming when he wants to be, and they'd left with a free box of noodles each to go with their fortune cookies.

Come Saturday, Phil spends the morning doing homework, and monitoring Steve's progress in preparing everything to be cooked. Peeling and chopping are two tasks Steve is mostly able to manage. As the time for Jim to arrive draws closer, Phil quietens down, but Steve thinks it's because he's concentrating on cooking. Watching him cook is nothing like it had been watching his wife. She'd almost glided through the kitchen airily drifting from task to task with no real plan, where Phil seems to approach it with a war like mentality; everything is planned down to the little details. It amuses Steve to watch Phil watching things on the stove, or checking on things in the oven, a little crinkle of concentration between his eyebrows.

"Can you make the tea?" Phil asks after awhile.

"The what?" Steve comes over to where Phil is standing, stirring a pot of sauce vigorously.

"There's no Asian alcohol in the store here, but there was green tea. You're just gonna have to forgo beer tonight." Phil smiles, and Steve sighs, but he can't help the smile on his face. Jim's not going to be impressed with the lack of a cold one, but maybe once Phil's gone to finish his homework, he and Jim will have a bottle of the IPA Steve has in the fridge.

"Alright, chef, I'm on it."

"I have to admit, Steve, I've been thinking about young Philip's steak all month." Jim laughs when he arrives. "Smells mighty good in here... I'm beginning to get jealous that I don't take kids in anymore." Steve takes Jim's coat and hat, hanging them up for him.

"Ha, well Phil's a hell of a cook." Steve chuckles, and Jim nods.

"I'm mighty jealous that you can eat that steak any time you like." Jim smiles, nods to Philip once they get to the kitchen.

"Ain't no steak tonight, JR." Steve pulls out a chair for Jim, and goes over to Phil, returning the slight smirk on Phil's face with one of his own.

"Oh, c'mon now, Steve! I'm an old friend! You can surely spring for a steak for me." The man grumbles, and Steve laughs, carrying over the first course, setting it in front of Jim. "What's this?" The older man asks, looking confused, realising there's only chopsticks on the table.

"Well, we thought to educate your palate a little, Mr Ross." Phil pours out three cups of tea, and takes his seat, thanking Steve for the plate of food that's set down in front of him.

"Phil here is a fine chef, and I don't want you to be thinking I'm not giving him the opportunity to explore other cuisines." Steve picks up the chopsticks, easily manipulating them, transporting food to his mouth with no fuss, unlike Jim, who is struggling.

"I'm all for exploring, but damn it Steve, teach me how to use these damn things." Jim grumbles, Phil laughs, and Steve gets to play at teacher.

"Well, Steve... I have to say that was a very different kid tonight." Jim sips at his IPA, a contented smile on his face, and several fortunes in front of him. Steve nods, Phil was more himself tonight, more like the kid he's been all month. It's a relief that Phil's finally letting himself be himself more. It's been a good month really, and Steve can only hope it continues.

"He's finding his feet still, but we're getting there." Steve smiles, swilling his beer around.

"So, I can tell you've not read the folder I gave you." Jim frowns, and Steve shrugs. He's not read it; it's sitting on the dresser, gathering dust.

"He said to ask him, and I will... When he's ready." Steve sips at his drink, considering when to ask, where is easy. It seems out on the boat is the best place to ask Phil awkward questions.

"How did you get him to relax?" Jim asks, finishing his beer, taking another fortune cookie. "_Tomorrow is your lucky day_... Again, at this rate I'm gonna win the damn lottery tomorrow." Jim laughs, and hands Steve the fortune.

"Took him fishing." Steve takes the little slip of paper, and hopes that it's right. He wants tomorrow to be a good day for Phil if nothing else.

"Fishing? Well, it worked I'll give you that. Where's his room? I got a little something for him." Jim stands, straightening his clothes.

"Just look for Hershey, she's gotten very attached to Phil." Steve stands too, ambling along behind his friend to Phil's room.

"Knock, knock." Jim calls, standing outside Phil's room. In the room, Phil's sprawled on the floor, his math homework on the floor in front of him, but his attention is mostly on sketching Hershey, as she lies napping on the bed.

"Mr Ross?" Phil sits up, looking surprised, and the old man comes into the room, fishing a large white envelope out of his coat pocket.

"I'm never sure what to get people, but I think you'll find a use for it." He smiles, and Phil stares at the envelope.

"I can't, sir... I mean it wouldn't-"

"Nonsense, Phil. Sixteen's an important age." Jim laughs passing the envelope to Phil.

"So I'm told." He mutters, grinning at Steve, and taking the envelope from Jim. "Thank you, Mr Ross." He looks incredibly, _genuinely _grateful. "Are you leaving? Did Steve remember to give you your cookies?" Phil stands, and Steve frowns, he'd hoped Phil wouldn't remember the batch of cookies he'd bagged up for Jim and his wife. There's a greedy part of Steve that wants to keep them for himself, this latest batch are particularly delicious and he doesn't much want to share.

"No he did not." Jim laughs, and Steve sighs.

"I'll get them." By the time he's back, Jim and Phil are by the front door, Phil laughing at something Jim's said, and Steve can't help but feel proud of himself. A month ago, Phil had been a nervous wreck because of Jim being here, now he's laughing at what was probably an incredibly embarrassing story about Steve. "One bag of cookies." Jim takes them, peeking inside the bag, and grinning at Phil.

"I'm not sure how many of these are going to make it to my wife, Phil. They smell good." The old man claps Phil's shoulder, making the kid tense up, but it's only briefly. "Happy birthday for tomorrow, son."

"Thank you, sir." Phil nods, and moves to leave. "I really should finish this homework if I want to enjoy it though. Drive safe, Mr Ross." Jim nods, and Phil leaves.

"What?" Steve frowns at the expression on Jim's face. It's something Steve's never seen, something curiously fond.

"He's a good kid, Steve. I _knew_ you'd be the best place for him." The old man pulls Steve into a hug. "You make sure to keep taking him fishing." He laughs and leaves a slightly confused Steve staring and waving him goodbye.

"Okay, Miss Hershey, you watch Phil do this all the time. If I'm going wrong let me know." Steve whispers to the dog, getting a confused look from her. He's been practicing all week, and he thinks he has this down, but there's still the chance it could all go wrong. Somehow, though he pulls it off, and when he knocks on Phil's door, bringing him breakfast in bed, the kid looks utterly bewildered.

"Steve?" He groans sitting up, rubbing sleep from his too big, too green eyes. It's times like this that Phil looks nowhere near his age, he's a cute little kid really, all eyes and confusion.

"Morning." Steve grins, and hands Phil his plate of pancakes. The ones in Phil's stack are the best, the least burnt of the batch. The crispiest were fed to Hershey, and the others are sitting in the kitchen for Steve to consume. "Wait there, I've got coffee for you." Steve comes back with a mug of coffee for Phil, and sets it down on the little nightstand by the bed. "You get a good sleep?" He considers watching Phil eat, or leaving him to it and eating in the kitchen. Phil nods, but frowns at Steve.

"Aren't you eating with me?" He asks, and Steve laughs, going and getting his own food, perching on the end of Phil's bed trying to ignore Hershey's covetous gaze aimed at his pancakes.

"So, Mr Birthday Boy, what d'you wanna do today?" Steve asks once breakfast is finished, and Phil glances up at him.

"I dunno... I wanna call my best friend back in Chicago, but other than that I got no idea." He frowns slightly, and stretches out in bed.

"Well, I've no objections to you using the phone, it's in the hall." Once upon a time the phone bill was astronomical with the amount of out of State calls that were made, that it'll be almost nice to have one unexpectedly large bill for a change.

"Thanksss." Phil grins, hissing the S for no reason Steve can see, and sets his empty plate down on the floor for Hershey to lick the butter from. "It's good for her coat, makes it all shiny." He justifies before Steve can even think to say anything.

"Well... How about we go out catch some lunch, head home for cake and presents. Then you can call your friend, and pick which delivery place is bringing your birthday dinner?" Steve suggests, and Phil grins, half-getting out of bed.

"Sounds like an incredible idea. I'll get dressed." Steve grabs the dirty dishes, Hershey trailing along behind him.

"Well, Miss Hershey, so far so good, right?" Steve asks the dog, and she huffs at him, flopping dramatically to the floor. "Oh, don't sulk. You'll get some cake, and don't we always give you fish from the fire?" It's about the only cooking Steve can do, fish on sticks roasted over a fire. Phil does seem fond of it though, every time they've gone to catch breakfast up at the lake it's been that, and Phil devours more than his own catch quite happily.

Their time on the boat yielded a far bigger catch than usual, Phil crowing that it had to be because it was his birthday, and Steve didn't argue, but he thought it might be because of the fortune cookie fortune Jim had given him yesterday. They'd eaten what they could, and took the rest home to turn into fish cookies for Hershey.

"Okay, close your eyes." Steve insists, drawing the blinds in the kitchen, making the sixteen little candles on the cake seem brighter.

"Do I get to make a wish?" Phil asks, his hands over his eyes, and Steve laughs at him.

"Course you do, but before you ask, I'm not singing to you." Steve sets the cake down carefully, hoping Phil likes it. It's a plain thing, white frosting with _Happy Birthday Phil_ in red on it, the candles are all blue, and Steve wonders if Phil will notice that they're the same shade of blue as the Chicago flag. It's not a _big_ thing, but the idea had pleased Steve.

"Spoilsport." Phil laughs at him, a smile on his face.

"Open your eyes." Phil does, and the smile on his face gets bigger. "Blow them out then."

"Huh? Oh... Yeah." Phil blows the candles out, and smiles up at Steve. "Thank you... I... No, just thank you, Steve this-"

"Here, knife." Steve opens the blinds and pours two cups of coffee, coming back over, sitting opposite Phil. "Is it good?" Phil's already cut two slices and is half way through his own. He doesn't answer, he just nods, a happy little look on his face. "Well, I'm glad." Steve sips his coffee, and then stands again, going to fetch Phil's presents. Earlier in the week a parcel had arrived addressed to Steve, inside there'd been a brightly wrapped present and a little letter from Phil's best friend back in Chicago. Over the course of the week, another present had arrived, another little letter explaining this one was from Phil's _not_ sisters. Steve had called Jim to confirm that these people did exist, and that they weren't connected with whatever it was Phil had been sent away from, and the old man had confirmed it was all okay. Steve's more than glad that it's not going to only be his present Phil has to open today. Sixteen is a big birthday; it's an important year in a kid's life.

"Is she allowed cake?" Phil calls, his eyes widening when Steve comes back with his arms filled with presents. "You didn't buy all that did you?" Phil looks horrified, and Steve shakes his head.

"Some mail arrived for you." He hands Phil Jim's envelope first, and sets the others on the table to be opened on Phil's whim.

"Holy shit..." Phil whispers when he pulls the card out of the envelope. "I can't take this. I _knew_ I couldn't take this." He closes the card, setting it on the table.

"What is it?" Steve asks, trying to see, but realising its futile as Phil's closed the card.

"A hundred dollars... I can't take that from him." Steve laughs, and Phil looks at him distressed.

"Phil, he wanted you to have it, so spend it on something you like, okay?" Steve smiles, hoping the expression is kind, because he wants Phil to feel better about this. "Here this one next, it's from the owl lady in the art store." He hands Phil the pencil that the old lady had given him, and Phil laughs.

"This is a good pencil." He smiles happily at Steve, then examines the pencil more closely. "Expensive one too... I'm gonna feel terrible after this... I'm gonna need to write so many thank yous and make Mr Ross steak next month."

"You need more cake, it makes everything better." Steve laughs, watching Phil cut three more slices, picking the frosting off one slice before setting it down for Hershey. She licks Phil's cheek, and then devours the cake as quickly as possible. "Jim'll be happy with steak, and owl lady wants you to go see her... She's your art teacher's mother." Phil looks up, his eyes huge in his pale face. "She thinks her daughter's a fruit loop too, wants to teach you technique." Steve grins, and Phil smiles slightly, busying himself with eating his cake. "Three left. This one's from someone called Scott, this one's from your _sisters_. And this one is from me." Steve points to the three packages, and Phil grabs the one from _Scott_ first, laughing when he's pulled it open.

"I've missed my hat." He laughs, putting the beat-up Chicago Cubs cap on. "I've felt naked without it." He grins, and Steve shakes his head. "Scott's my best friend... He knows me pretty well." Phil explains, taking the parcel from his _sisters_ next. It feels strangely to Steve like his present is being _saved_ for last. The present Phil opens reveals several items of clothing, including an old faded hoodie. Phil smiles fondly at it, pulling it on, zipping it up, a happy smile spreading over his lips.

"It looks like they sent you presents of stuff you already owned." Steve smiles awkwardly, clearly, these things mean a lot to Phil, clearly they have good memories associated with them, and he's happy that they're back in Phil's possession.

"I should call them on giving me the same presents twice actually." Phil smiles, and takes the last present.

"Open it already." Steve laughs, he feels nervous for no real good reason, and Phil nods, opening the parcel and grinning broadly.

"Steve, this is the best thing anyone's given me." He smiles. "Thank you _so_ much, so very much."

"It's nothing, Phil." But it really doesn't feel like nothing, not when Phil is looking at Steve like that, his eyes filled with earnest gratitude. No one has ever looked at Steve like that before, and he can only hope that he can get that expression once more at Christmas, because it feels incredible to be on the receiving end of that expression.

"I should... I mean, do you mind if I call my sisters too?" Phil asks, holding the bundle of art supplies Steve gave him to his chest, looking like he's almost afraid someone will try and take them from him.

"Knock yourself out. I'll head out to check the cattle, give you some privacy." Steve stands, and looks at Hershey, the dog sighs as she stands, she'd clearly been hoping for more cake.

When Steve gets back to the ranch house a few hours later, Phil's still on the phone, sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughing at whatever is being said to him.

"No, I should get going though... I've been on the phone for _hours_!" He laughs again, and Steve smiles. He's glad Phil's laughing more, it really is a good laugh that he has. "No, I'm going... No! Well, kind of, shut up! I hate you!" He laughs, and there's a pause where Steve assumes Phil's listening to the other person talk. "I told you... He's a nice guy, and _yes_, I'm trying, but it's hard... I mi-" Phil's friend clearly cut him off, and there's a soft chuckle. "Okay, say hi to them for me. Bye, yeah, bye, okay, bye, yes, okay, goodbye... I'm really hanging up now. Okay, okay, yeah, yeah, you too alright. Bye."

"You speak to everyone and did you pick for dinner?" Steve calls, and Phil appears at the door. There's a big smile on his face, and Steve smiles back at him.

"Pizza, I order it to be delivered at about six. It might have be-"

"Good man, Phil. So what you wanna watch? We got all night, and I don't think there's much to do but eat pizza, drink all this soda and watch something good." Steve smiles at Phil, he's beyond happy Phil had already ordered, had thought to place the order with a specific delivery time; he really is a smart kid. He wanders through to the living room, taking his spot on the couch and Steve takes the easy chair, tossing Phil the remote. "This is yours today, use it wisely."

They sit and watch TV for hours, Phil making some very sound choices on what looks good and what looks terrible, and Steve is pleased. It's getting close to bedtime, Phil yawning every so often, making Hershey, then Steve yawn in turn.

"Steve?" Phil says quietly, he sounds sleepy, looks even sleepier when Steve turns to look at him.

"Uh-huh?" Steve asks, watching him stand, rubbing at his eyes, looking impossibly young as he yawns. It's hard to believe that he's sixteen, that today is his sixteenth birthday.

"There's one other thing I'd like for my birthday." He smiles awkwardly; like this is something he's been thinking about far too much and has almost talked himself out of.

"What's that?" Steve sits up a little straighter, wondering what the kid could want.

"My friends..." He looks away, focusing on the floor. "They don't call me Phil." He says, finally meeting Steve's eyes. "They call me Punk, so I'd like for you to call me that, okay?" He smiles, something timid and uncertain in his expression.

"Sure thing, Punkster." Phil laughs, and Steve grins at him. "You don't mind that, right?"

"No... I don't think I do." He smiles, and this time it's the biggest, brightest smile Steve's ever seen on his face. The kid really does look so much better when he smiles. "G'night Steve." He shuffles up to Steve, and the hug he gives him is as precious to Steve as it is awkward.

"G'night Punkster." He mumbles, watching Hershey follow along after Phil. In his mind he's dancing a little victory dance, in his mind he can hear his wife laughing.

_See my rattlesnake, you just have to wait him out. Just you wait, and he'll come to you._

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**_plebs, **_AshJoivillette, InYourHonour,_** **_littleone1389_**, **_Brokenspell77_**, **_Shiki94,_** and **_Rebellecherry._**_**

_Your reviews have all been very encouraging - I apologise for the delay on this chapter and hope it was somewhat worth the wait. This fic is a labour of love... It takes a while to write a chapter, there's a lot of stuff (usually during the weeks stuff) that gets written only to be discarded for being nothing but padding what is already pretty comfortable. I hope the wait isn't too irritating for you beloved readers! I once more apologise. _

_Guess what I've not done since I was fifteen and drunk? If you guessed fishing, you were correct! As ever I'm nervous about this one, so__ if there's anything incredibly squiffy PM me and lemme know, okay? :)_

**Needless to say... I'm _more_ than interested in your thoughts, so please review!**


	4. November

**Warnings**: AU, Implied Child Abusem Mild Profanity. **Eventual** **Warnings**: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Age difference.

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><p>"Do you even get Trick or Treaters out here?" Is the first thing Phil says to Steve on the morning of the day after his birthday. He'd looks kind of embarrassed, and Steve shakes his head, starting the first batch of coffee for the day.<p>

"Nope. You wanna Trick or Treat you're gonna have to go into town, Punkster." Steve laughs, and Phil snorts disdainfully, muttering that he's too old for that whilst he plating up breakfast. "So you want a run to school?" That morning, Steve has appointed himself a mission. He wants to make a new addition to the household, so he's going to have to get his ass to the market as early as possible.

"Sure... You heading to town?" Phil sets breakfast down in front of Steve, and then starts eating, subtly passing little bits of bacon down the very pleased looking Hershey.

"We're gonna be able to dress her up as Santa if you keep feeding her." Steve laughs and Phil glances up, looking slightly guilty.

"I'll take her running." He sounds contrite, and Steve shakes his head. The dog looks fine, but once Phil's gone, in less than a year, only eight more months now, she's going to miss him, and his cooking. Though, Steve might miss the cooking a little more, a return to nothing but toast in the mornings is going to be hard to accept.

"She runs plenty, don't worry about it." Steve grins, and goes to fetch the coffee, bringing back a couple of cookies to go with it. They're the newest batch, pumpkin spice for Halloween, and Steve is going to mourn their passing, they're damn good, but Phil has stressed that they're for Halloween only.

"So, what you going to town for? The fence is all fixed, is there something else we need to be working on?" It makes Steve grin to hear Phil say _we_ so casually, October really has been a good month for them. In the face of the _tiny_ baby steps taken in September, it feels like they've taken a great big leap. It's good, but Steve is worried something is going to scare Phil back behind his walls again. Though even if it does, there's that crack in them, there's a way to get him to poke his head out. It's just unexpected that it's fishing.

"A surprise." Steve grins, and Phil frowns, clearly trying to work out if he thinks this is going to be a good or bad surprise. "A new addition to the ranch." Steve clarifies, and Phil definitely looks intrigued.

"I could come-"

"You're going to school, Punkster. Don't you need to find out how well you did in your art assignment?" Steve interrupts him, knowing that Phil was about to offer to ditch to come help.

"Urgh... Don't remind me." He groans, polishing off his cookie. "I need to remember to go see that lady at the art store sometime. Anything has to be better than this _flake_ they have teaching me." He grumbles, taking the dirty dishes to the sink, and going to get ready for school.

When Steve drops Phil off, he's greeted by his fan club with lots of high-pitched giggling. Steve remembers a time when he was greeted like that with a certain fondness, but Phil looks horribly embarrassed. He gives Steve a vague wave goodbye, before being swallowed up by the jostling girls, all of them competing for his attention.

"What the fuck!" Steve has to fight a laugh when Phil's shock interrupts him from cleaning his guns that afternoon.

"You like her?" Steve sets the gun he's working on down, wandering over to where Phil is standing staring at the little pen and the animal in it. "I'm thinking of calling her Cranberry Sauce."

"There's a turkey in the yard." Phil says dryly, staring at the bird. "It looks furious... It knows we're gonna eat it, I'm sure of it." Phil glances over at Steve, something like horror on his face. "It's looking at me... It's _looking_ at me, Steve." He sounds incredibly uncomfortable, and Steve loses the fight with his laughter. Phil glances back at Hershey, and Steve shakes his head. Hershey doesn't much like turkeys either. She had a bad experience with one when she was a teenager, she's been wary since then, so she's sitting on the veranda looking warily at the bird.

"Cranberry here is your project, Punkster. You raise her up good, and I'll give you twenty dollars a week. I want her fat for Thanksgiving." Steve had thought long and hard about this. He knows that Phil is almost undoubtedly intending to spend the money Jim gave him on presents to send back to Chicago for Christmas. He might not know Phil as well as he'd like, but the way the Cubs cap, and beat up old hoodie have become permanent parts of Phil's everyday wardrobe suggests that the people who sent them to him are _important _to him. They'll be getting presents, and the only money Phil has is that hundred. Steve gets the feeling that just giving Phil money wouldn't sit right with the kid, so having him earn it is the only option. Turkey rearing is a tricky task, so it will be hard-earned cash, but Steve's sure Phil's up to the challenge.

"You don't need to pay me, Steve." Phil mutters softly, staring the turkey in the eye. "I might be a corpse by the end of the week, anyways." He laughs, and almost jumps when the turkey gobbles at him.

"You'll be fine, see she likes you." Steve claps Phil's shoulder lightly, pretending not to notice the wince his touch inspires.

"It's laughing at me." The turkey gobbles again, and Phil sighs, then straightens up, staring the turkey down. "We'll see who's laughing when I'm shoving stuffing down your throat, Cranberry." He smirks, looking like he's decided that he can handle anything the adolescent fowl can throw his way. "I've never cooked turkey before... I'm gonna need to get a recipe. I've never _fed_ a turkey before, what do they eat? If I feed it different things will it taste better? Hmm... Is there a book about this in the house? Steve? Steve? You listening? Answer one of the questions." Phil is on the veranda by the time his ramble finishes, sounding like he's never left Chicago, and Steve is fighting another laugh. The rambling is very sweet, and a sign that the poor kid has spent far too much time on his own. It's like he's worried he'd forget what people sound like if he didn't talk to himself. It's a habit some of the kids who have stayed at the ranch in the past had, usually ones who were neglected or left alone for long periods of time. They'd never say anything important aloud, just a little stream of consciousness, something to make them feel less lonely. It's almost shocking how much Steve hates Phil's parents; it almost floors him how much he wants to beat some sense into these people. Their son is a good kid, but is seems that he is a good kid despite and possibly to spite them.

"Should be a book in the den, I'll look it out. So what you making for dinner, chef?" Steve follows Phil into the house, laughing when he starts rambling about what to cook.

Halloween night, they'd watched old movies and eaten candy corn. Phil had insisted that they at least get dressed up, buy some candy, and carve a pumpkin, just in case someone showed up. Whilst Steve had expected it to be a pointless waste of time, some random kids had turned up at the door, with their older sisters. The girls had giggled at Steve being dressed as Igor, Phil as Dr Frankenstein, and poor Hershey who'd found herself with some bolts on her collar. She'd more than enjoyed having some new visitors, and the kids had been more than enamoured with a monster dog. The older sisters, who Steve recognised from the gaggle of Phil's fan club, had been more than enamoured with Phil, much to his obvious embarrassment. Steve had teased him after they were gone, saying that when he was sixteen he'd have lapped up the female attention, but Phil had shrugged and not said anything, so Steve took the hint and left it at that.

The first Saturday of November sees Phil in the kitchen surrounded by homework that he's ignoring, and some books about turkeys that he's engrossed in reading and taking notes on. Steve's sitting with his latest batch of letters, writing replies. It feels strange giving updates to his old kids about his new one, but so many of them had seemed surprised and happy to hear that there was someone on the ranch with Steve. He'd never really thought just how important the work he and his wife had done was until he'd started relying to these letters.

"Cranberry is going to be trouble." Phil mutters, looking up from his book, and then down pointedly at his empty cup.

"They're not so bad, used to have a whole bunch of them back in the day." Steve takes the hint and starts a new pot of coffee.

"I guess that explains why you've got the feed, but still she's gonna kill me by Thanksgiving." Phil stands, plating up a batch of his latest cookies. "No chocolate in these ones." He warns Steve, setting the plate down.

"No chocolate?" Steve takes one of them, and is only mildly disappointed to find that its oatmeal and cranberry flavour. They're good, but nothing on the chocolate chip ones. "Not bad, Punkster."

"I had a feeling you wouldn't approve." Phil smiles slightly, and starts reading again. "So... Who's going to kill the monster?" He asks, looking up again. His eyes are impossibly huge, tinged with innocent cynicism.

"I'll kill her, but you're in charge of the plucking... I hate plucking feathers." Steve stands again, fetching the coffee pot, pouring Phil a new cup.

"I've never _butchered_ anything... Maybe I should get something to practice with? A chicken or something..." He looks concerned, and Steve nods. There's an old bird out in the coop that isn't producing as many eggs as she was, so she'll make decent practice.

"I'll kill one of the hens. It can be your project for tomorrow." Steve smirks at Phil, watching him pale somewhat. "What? We keep the chickens for their eggs, when they're too old, they're for the pot." Phil nods, and looks almost upset.

"Which one?" He asks, Steve had assigned Phil the task of feeding the chickens a while back, and it seems he'd gotten more attached to them that Steve had assumed. He's a strange kid, and terribly sweet behind his nervousness.

"The big old brown one." Steve starts writing again, hearing Phil suck air in through his teeth.

"Ma Brown? I guess... She's pretty old, right? I'll have to find a recipe to do her justice." He stands, and Steve laughs at him.

"Sit down... You need to finish your homework, and you won't if you keep thinking about birds." Phil flops back into his seat, taking the first of his homework books up. "Wait... You named the chickens?" Steve has to admit, he's at once surprised and not surprised in the least. Phil is an oddly sentimental thing at heart so it seems, and has a huge soft spot when it comes to animals.

"I need to know who's trying to peck my shoes so I can shout at them." Phil looks up with a grin, and snags a cookie from the plate. "I'll give her a nice last meal tonight... I think it'll have to be some kind of stew, or maybe I could make soup with her. Hmm... I dunno." He starts chewing on the end of his pencil, and Steve shakes his head.

"Focus, Punkster. Homework, then food." Steve laughs, going back to his work, grinning to himself at the sound of Phil's pencil scratching across the page.

Sunday sees them still working on writing, Phil on homework, Steve at letters. It's a strangely quiet weekend, with nothing much of anything happening. A weekend spent being quietly in each other's company, one that for all of its quietness is one that Steve feels was productive. If nothing else, Ma Brown's stew was delicious, and Phil proved himself to be an efficient feather plucker.

"You're home late." Monday sees Phil back late, usually he's back straight after the bus drops him off, but it's after five before he makes his appearance, and there's a part of Steve that's worried.

"Yeah... Was held up in school." Phil mutters, going straight to the kitchen, Hershey trailing along behind him.

"Anything exciting?" Steve follows for a lack of anything better to do, and to try and find out what's wrong. There's a strange quietness surrounding Phil, like the life that had been in him these last few weeks has been sucked out, and it has Steve worried.

"No." Phil's voice is quiet but final, and Steve sits on a chair at the table, nibbling a cookie, and wondering how to get Phil to open up once more. It's a common problem between them. Something happens, Phil closes off, and Steve tries to regain the lost ground. They'd been doing so well, they'd been getting on with so few problems, that Steve can't say he's surprised about this setback; he'd been waiting for it after all.

The weekend rolls around, and there's very little change in Phil's mood. He's been quieter all week, and Steve wants to know what's wrong. The best way to do that is to ask him, and the best place to ask him is probably out on the boat, so there's really only one suggestion for what to do today.

"You wanna head out today?" Steve asks, and Phil looks up from his breakfast. There's a pensive set to his shoulders, as there has been all week, and he nods. "Okay, we'll eat, then head out to the lake." Phil nods again, and Steve holds a sigh in check. He needs to wait to find out what's troubling Phil, he knows that, but he'd much rather Phil rambling about _anything_ than this return to the sullen silence.

The trip is quiet, Steve not bothering to make conversation, he can tell that Phil won't answer him. Whatever it is that's bothering his charge isn't going to be discussed in the car. It's one of those awkward fishing boat conversations for sure.

"You gonna tell me what's eating you, cause I know there's something wrong." Steve says calmly once he's stopped rowing in the middle of the lake. Phil sighs, and fidgets, tying a worm to his rod, and casting the line.

"The day I was late back... I was in detention." He sounds apologetic, and Steve laughs.

"That's it?" He turns to Phil, and the smile on his face dies. The kid is hunched in on himself, staring out at the water. "There's more..."

"I wanna drop art." Phil mutters, not looking at Steve. It's a surprise, Phil likes art, and he's good at it, that he wants to drop it is a shock.

"But... You _like_ drawing." Steve mumbles, wishing Phil would turn to him so he could gauge the kid's mood, his profile is giving nothing away.

"I just like drawing." He says quietly. "I don't want to use it to psychoanalyse myself." He sighs, twitching his line. "I don't see why that's a bad thing. I..."

"Hmm..." Steve huffs; he's not sure what to say here. Phil and his art teacher really aren't a good match, but it would be terrible for him to give up something he likes just because his teacher isn't the right one for him. "How bout we go see the lady in the art store tomorrow?"

"Why? I don't want to tattle to my teacher's mom." Phil finally turns to look at Steve, his eyes bigger, and rounder than usual. There's times when it's hard not to fidget under that wide-eyed stare.

"She wanted to give you lessons, Punkster... If you're not learning from your teacher, you should learn from someone who might be able to _teach_ you." Steve smiles with what he hopes is reassurance. He doesn't want Phil to give up something he likes because of one bad teacher. It doesn't seem fair, and the owl lady might be able to help him.

"Okay... Tomorrow, I'll go see her... You're not pissed about me getting detention?" He asks, turning back to the water, his posture a little more relaxed.

"Ha, I surprised this was your first one... Last bunch of kids I had I was called into the school least twenty times by now." Steve laughs, and there's a little smile at the corner of Phil's mouth. "You're a good kid... Don't let anyone tell you different, okay?" This would be the perfect moment to offer some type of physical contact, a friendly pat on the shoulder, a one armed hug, but Steve does none of these things, he knows Phil won't welcome them, so he ignores the itching in his fingers. It doesn't matter that Phil hugged him; it seems he doesn't like being touched unless he initiates the contact.

"Sure... Good _kid_..." Phil sounds miserable, but perks up once he lands the first catch of the day.

"So what's the plan for the rest of the day?" Steve asked when they get home. Phil has been chattering vaguely the whole way home, and it's a comfort that the boat, that fishing is something that makes Phil relax and open up. It might be strange and unexpected, but it works, and that's all that's important to Steve.

"Uh... I guess I should do homework... But we did take those fish home... And Hershey does need more cookies..." Phil looks torn, and Steve laughs.

"I'm gonna go check on outside... Homework first, Punkster." Steve looks pointedly at Hershey, and she sighs, standing and following Steve outside. "I know you want those cookies, Miss Hershey, but education is more important than giving you new and exciting treats." The look on the dog's face argues that Steve is _very_ wrong on that front.

"Before you say anything, my homework is _mostly _done, and here... Try these ones." Phil is in the kitchen, and there's the oddest smell coming from it when Steve gets back.

"How mostly is mostly?" Steve takes a cookie from the plate Phil pointed to, and then regrets it, there's only three left on the plate, Steve would like at least three dozen more. "What are these?"

"Yam." Phil sounds pleased with himself, and Steve takes another. "I'm thinking maybe for Thanksgiving? My pastry isn't up to much-"

"As I remember your caramel wasn't either, Punkster." Steve laughs, wandering over to the coffee pot. He thinks he's going to have to start getting better coffee, ones that compliment the many and varied cookies Phil is fond of making, and Steve is far fonder of eating. It feels like he should be branching out in the one area Steve has more talent than Phil in, if only because there's an odd part of Steve that'd like to impress Phil somehow.

"I can practice caramel, pastry is a science... I don't have the talent for it." Phil sounds annoyed, and huffs at the dough he's mixing.

"Well... Jim and his wife were thinking of coming down to keep us company for Thanksgiving... I could get Jan to make up some pies?" Steve smiles, and pours Phil a cup of coffee. "Come eat these two before they're gone." He points to the plate, desperately resisting the urge to devour the last two cookies.

"I've made more, Steve." Phil laughs, coming over, and taking one of the cookies. "I wanted your opinion on them before I tried them though." He grins, and Steve mutters _brat_ under his breath, there's something decidedly _brattish_ about the grin on Phil's face, made even worse by him poking his tongue out. "Hmm... Not too bad." He sips at his coffee, a considering look on his face. "I might use different flour next time... I want them crispier." Steve has no idea what a different flour would do, but he's sure they'll taste good not matter what kind of flour Phil uses.

"You're a strange kid sometimes, and I think..." Steve shakes his head, not wanting to finish his sentence, not wanting to tell Phil that he thinks his wife would have adored him. He can hear the conversations she and Phil would have had, can hear her discussing different flours and fats, all that weird cooking stuff she'd loved chatting with the girls about. If she were here, she would have loved Phil of that Steve has no doubt. Phil looks at him, clearly expecting there to be more, expecting Steve to finish his sentence, but Steve can't, all he can manage is another shake of his head.

"Finish the last one, I'm not hungry. This fish dough wasn't appetizing to make." Phil wanders back over to his mixing bowl, and flops the dough out on to the counter, beginning to roll out. "You better appreciate my effort, Missy." He laughs at Hershey, and Steve takes the last cookie. It feels like he was just permitted to chicken out, and Steve supposes that the next time on the boat he might have to let Phil ask him some uncomfortable questions. He thinks that it might be good to talk to someone about his wife, and it might be a good way to get Phil to open up to him some more, give him a little, hoping to get something in return.

"You're up early." Sunday morning sees Phil at the kitchen table, a plethora of books in front of him. "I'm guessing _mostly_ was Chicago slang for not at all?" Steve laughs, and Phil looks up. He looks tired, his eyes red.

"It was mostly finished. I just have this last one to go... History report." He sighs, and Steve nods vaguely, starting a pot of coffee. "Breakfast's in the oven, should be ready." Steve nods again and opens the oven door, taking out a pan of fresh baked muffins.

"You're gonna make me so fat..." Steve mutters, setting the pan down on a stand, and considering how to get the muffins out of the tray.

"Join a gym?" Phil laughs, coming over, and removing the muffins quickly leaving them on a cooling rack. "When the coffee's done they'll be ready to eat." He shuffles back over to his books, picking up one again, writing some stuff down in his notebook.

"You like history, Punkster?" Steve asks sitting down, ruffling Hershey's ears as she wanders over, giving his hand an enthusiastic morning lick.

"No... It's all dates, I... I'm _bad_ with numbers." Phil sighs, closing the book he's reading, and Steve nods. He'd been pretty good at history for the fact it was all numbers, he's pretty good with those.

"Want me to help you? I ain't got nothing but taking you to owl lady planned." Phil glances up, a wary look on his face. "What? You think I'd forgotten that?"

"Maybe..." Phil mutters, looking away, taking up another book. "I don't think there's any point in it." He sounds horribly unconvinced, and Steve shrugs.

"No harm in going and seeing what she says though, is there?" Steve stands, pouring two cups of coffee, setting them on the table, before bringing the muffins over.

"I guess... I just think it'll be a waste of time." Phil sighs, setting his book down, picking up a muffin. "I don't want you wasting a day on me." He mumbles, and Steve shakes his head him, the kid has some strange ideas on Steve priorities.

"Even if nothing comes of it, it won't be a waste." Steve assures him. Phil offers a tentative smile that's half cynicism, and half optimism.

"If you say so..."

"Hello again." Owl lady is sitting in her store, sketching on a big pad of paper on the counter. There's a few middle-aged women browsing at section of the shop that seems to be nothing but pressed flowers, but other than that the store is empty. "You must be Philip." The old woman comes from around the counter, and shakes Phil's hand.

"Uh... Yes ma'am. It's nice to meet you." Phil smiles at her, and Steve shakes her hand when she offers it to him.

"I was so hoping you'd come and see me... My daughter insists on showing me your work, keeps trying to tell me you don't understand her _class_." The old woman spits the word class, and laughs. "How anyone can understand that claptrap is beyond me... Now..." She wanders back behind the counter, and pulls up a folder. "This is all of your work, I've... _Borrowed_, shall we say."

"_Borrowed_..." Phil mutters, and the owl woman laughs, waving him over.

"Mr... _Steve_ wasn't it?" She smiles awkwardly, and Steve has the terrible feeling he knows what's she's going to ask him.

"Yes ma'am." He mutters.

"Be a good man and guard the store. I want to talk to your Philip." She smiles, and turns to Phil. "This way." She leads Phil to the back, and Steve sighs, he's no idea how to run a store, but by the look of things, it's not going to be too busy.

Its maybe two hours owl woman and Phil are gone, Steve could hear snippets of conversation and the old woman laughing every so often, which put his mind somewhat at east about what was going on back there. It sounds like she and Phil are getting along as well as Steve had assumed they would, which is in all honesty a relief. There'd been a part of Steve that had been worried this would be as pointless as Phil had thought it would be.

"So, I'll stop by on Tuesday?" Phil comes out from back room, and stands by Steve. Owl woman appears, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Every day beginning with a T." She laughs, and Phil nods. "You remember what I told you, I expect three drawings." Phil nods again, and the owl lady smiles. "Good man." She shakes Phil's hand again, and turns to Steve. "I see you didn't burn down the shop...This one was doubtful." She gestures to Phil, and he ducks his head.

"No ma'am, ain't nothing burn it with... So you'll be wanting some kind of pay-"

"God, no! I'm teaching this ruffian out of the goodness of my heart, and the need to make sure that my damn fool daughter doesn't destroy more talent with her wishy-washy nonsense." The old woman shoos Steve and Phil from around the counter. "That and I want to see if I've still got it in me to mould children into artists." She laughs, and holds her hand out again. "I suppose I should mention my name really... Mrs Davis, it's nice to meet you boys... Tuesday, Philip, don't you forget now."

"Yes, ma'am... Mrs Davis." Phil smiles at the lady, and Steve nods, ushering Phil out of the art store. "She really does look like an owl... I didn't believe you when you told me, but she _really _does."

"I know... So... You wanna grab something to eat in town? My treat. You can tell me all about your first lesson with the owl." Steve grins at Phil, getting a grin back, then a long rambling explanation of what Phil had been doing for the last two hours.

Tuesday night sees Phil home late, being dropped off by the owl. He comes almost bounding up the steps, a grin on his face, and Steve greets him with an easy smile.

"Well, how'd it go?" Steve asks, trailing along behind Hershey as she follows Phil.

"Good... Real good. I learned stuff... It's _nice_ learning something in an art lesson for a change." Phil laughs, and Steve nods, watching Phil set his bag down. "You hungry? I'm not sure what to make for dinner..."

"You sure you're up to cooking... Been a long day's learning and I can probably do some grilled cheese, and canned soup." Steve goes to the kitchen, hearing Phil following him.

"I'm fine... Really." Phil smiles, and Steve shakes his head. The kid looks tired, his shoulders drooped, his eyes slightly hazy. It wouldn't be responsible, or fair to leave him with the task of cooking, and Steve pretty sure he can manage to cut cheese, and heat through a can of soup.

"I'll cut the cheese... I'm kind of partial to the idea now that I've had it." Phil smiles at his words, something grateful in the expression.

"Well... Alright, but you're not grilling anything, you'll burn it." Phil laughs, and as he moves past Steve to go fetch the grill pan, he doesn't flinch when their bodies brush.

_See my rattlesnake, look how far you've come with him. I'm proud._

The truth is Steve's a little proud too.

"You're on holiday soon, right?" This weekend is the last before Thanksgiving, and Steve can't quite remember when it is that the kids used to get their break from school for the holiday.

"Yeah..." Phil murmurs, his attention is caught with his homework, but Steve is pretty used to Saturday mornings being spent writing letters, and watching Phil work. He's almost concerned about the amount of assignments Phil drags home with him every week, but he seems to manage fine, and Steve's heard nothing from the school, so he supposes it's normal. When she'd been there, his wife had been the homework mistress, Steve hadn't taken anything to do with the awful stuff since he'd had to do it himself.

"You gonna get up to anything exciting for the break?" Steve's fishing for conversation, he knows he is, but he's bored, and Phil seems engrossed in his work to want to head out to the lake. He looks up at Steve, an odd look on his face.

"Dunno..." He shrugs, and Steve holds back a sigh, turning down to the letter he's trying to write. "What's up?" Phil asks suddenly, and Steve laughs, meeting those far too big, far too green eyes of Phil's, surprised to see them filled with concern. "You seem... _Off_. Is something wrong?" Steve shakes his head and laughs again.

"No... Not at thing." It's entirely true, Steve's just _bored_, and he can't really confess that to the kid he's supposed to the guardian of, it'd look bad, or unprofessional, or something anyways. Phil looks unconvinced, and closes his book, some stern look in his eyes.

"C'mon... I'm not buying that. What's up?" He rests his chin in one hand, a lazy smile on his face, and Steve shakes his head, pretending to write, feeling strangely like a child under the kid's assessing gaze.

"Not a thing..." Steve taps Phil's homework with his pen. "You should be getting on with that." Phil laughs at Steve and stands, leaving the room.

_You've got him worried, rattlesnake. You should talk to him, you know that don't you?_

He can hear his wife scolding him, and Steve sighs, and caps his pen. He's not really sure what's wrong. It's almost like he's excited, which is ridiculous, but there's a part of him that's excited about the idea of Thanksgiving, about the idea of spending Christmas with Phil. He's always liked the Holidays, and last year had been miserable, just him and Hershey. This year Phil will be there, and whilst he's too old to appreciate Steve dressing up as Santa, there's a part of Steve that's certain he's going to anyway.

"Catch." Is all Steve hears before a baseball comes hurtling towards him. He manages to catch the ball, and looks up to see Phil wearing a smirk. "I bought a couple of mitts and a ball with the money from Mr Ross." He smiles awkwardly, and Steve stands, tossing the ball back. "Wanna throw it round a bit? Gotta be better than being cooped up in here, right?" He grins, and Steve nods, following Phil out back. Throwing a ball around will be a far better use of this strange energy.

Sunday sees Steve back at his letters, and Phil finishing the homework he'd abandoned on Saturday in favour of hanging out with Steve. The day they spend quietly writing. Phil seems bound and determined to finish as much work as possible, and Steve is in all honesty quite pleased to field the rare questions Phil asks him about how to solve various math problems.

"So... I guess today's the day then." Phil says come Wednesday morning, he's off school, and Steve's been enjoying the time they've spent together, pottering around the ranch, and braving the grocery store to buy the last of the things for Thanksgiving. He'd also been enjoying Phil's failed attempts at pastry. The pies he's made might not have been up to his exacting standard, but for failures, they'd tasted damn good.

"The day?" Steve asks, and Phil nods, looking grim.

"Cranberry's execution." He says firmly, and Steve nods. He'd forgotten that he had to kill the mean not so little any more turkey. She's taken more than a few pecks at Phil, but for all he doesn't like the turkey, Phil gets attached. Ma Brown had been made into what was perhaps the best chicken stew Steve's ever eaten, and he'd pretended not to notice Phil burying her wishbone in the yard. Being sentimental isn't a bad thing, but Steve has the feeling Phil's been told to not cry by too many, too harsh voices for far too long.

"It is... You ready to pluck her? It'll take you a while." Steve smiles easily, and Phil nods. He looks mildly distraught, and Steve stands, briefly resting his hand on Phil's shoulder, utterly surprised when Phil doesn't tense, seems to lean towards him slightly. "You did good work with her. She'll be feeding us for days."

"I hope so." Phil turns to him, and stands, clearly intending to follow Steve, and watch the passing of his project. "I've got the ingredients for turkey tamales... I've always wanted to try making those." He grins, and Steve nods, the idea is one he approves of vastly. "You want to keep the feathers for something?" Phil asks, and Steve shrugs, he's got no idea what to do with turkey feathers, but he supposes they could make quills or something.

"If you want, Punkster... I'm sure we can think of something to do with them." Steve smiles over at Phil, and the kid nods, looking distracted, clearly trying to think of something.

Cranberry's death was swift, and Steve politely didn't mention Phil wiping his eyes when Steve snapped her neck. Phil spends the majority of the afternoon plucking, only coming in to make lunch, then going back out to finish his work. Steve spends his time out pottering with the cattle, debating what to plant in the fields come the spring. He's not sure when Jim's going to take Phil back to Chicago, July probably, so whatever he plants has to either be harvested before then or be easy enough for one man to take in, and it's a hard decision.

"Steve?" Phil appears beside him late in the afternoon, looking pale. Steve's surprised by Phil's appearance, he'd been lost in thought, and the kid really doesn't look too well.

"What is it Punkster?" He asks, the mild surprise leaving Steve feeling kind of _odd_. He'd been thinking of Thanksgivings long ago, of the first one he'd had out here with his wife, of the burnt store bought turkey, and mountain of mashed potatoes that they'd ended up flinging at each other before making love on the old kitchen table.

"I, uh... Ha..." Phil looks uncomfortable, and leans against a fence post, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't..." He trails off, and frowns, hiding his hands in his too long sleeves, turning to look at Steve, his eyes _huge_ in his too thin face.

"You can't?" Steve prompts, pushing off his own fence post and coming closer. "What is it?" The way Phil looks is making Steve desperately uncomfortable, all he wants to do is hug the poor thing. He looks like he needs to be hugged; he looks small, timid, so very _young_.

"I..." Phil sighs, and swipes his cap from his head, looking earnestly at Steve. "I need you to chop her head off, I can't do it." He speaks fast and quiet, his accent thick and soft like molasses. Steve nods, not sure what to say, he _knows_ he should say something, but he's not sure what.

"Alright." It's a poor thing he comes up with, something so insufficient, but Phil looks so very grateful, and he hugs Steve quickly, a quick awkward snatch of a hug, like the one he'd given Steve on his birthday. It truly seems like Phil would be a very tactile person, if he wasn't so damned scared, and hatred for Phil's parents builds in Steve again. These people, despite being _clearly_ abhorrent, managed to make a sweet, _sweet_ child. How Steve has no idea, but they did, beneath fear and uncertainty, Phil is a _good_ kid.

The rest of that night, they spend in the living room watching TV. Phil seems subdued, and Steve can't say he blames him, he'd helped gut Cranberry, and there was something strangely sad about pulling the innards out of the bird. She might have been mean, and prone to pecking, but she had been part of the family. There's a good part of Steve that thinks that Phil probably could use another hug. He looks like it'd do him the world of good, and Hershey is trying her best, but Steve's certain that if he tried to be comforting, Phil would tense up. So Steve makes popcorn, and they watch reruns of NYPD Blue for a lack of anything better on TV.

"Why did I think this was a good idea..." Phil's already up and cooking when Steve wanders downstairs on Thanksgiving morning. The radio from his room has been dragged to the kitchen, playing some random call-in show, and Hershey is half asleep, half-watching Phil with rapt attention from her basket. He seems to be engrossed in what he's doing, complaining about how his gravy is going to be a lumpy mess, and that even in death Cranberry is causing him problems by being so fat. The kid had done a damn good job of feeding the mean bird up.

"Coffee?" Steve says by way of a greeting, and Phil jumps at the sound of his voice. A nervous smile on his lips.

"_Yes_!" He hisses, returning to wrestling with the corpse of Cranberry. "I need to get Cranberry in the oven soon or she'll be raw when it's time to eat. I've not made breakfast yet..." He's busy tying string around the turkey, and Steve's pretty sure if he wasn't standing there watching, the corpse of Cranberry would be being sworn at impressively.

"You stuff her okay?" Steve asks, creeping closer, wanting to inspect the contents of the pot on the stove.

"Uh-huh, stuffed, trussed, butter under the skin, bacon on top... And _finally_ in the oven." Phil looks triumphant as he washes his hands.

"_Bacon_?" Steve questions, coming a little closer, sniffing at what appears to cranberry sauce to go with Cranberry herself.

"Bacon." Phil says firmly. "I read it keeps the meat moist... So, breakfast? What you want?" Phil leans against the sink, drying his hands, that triumphant look still on his face. Steve shakes his head, and waves Phil out of the way.

"We're having toast, sit and drink your coffee." Steve ushers Phil over to the table, and sets a cup down in front of him. "Good man." He pats Phil's shoulder gently, hoping that the slight tension he could feel in Phil is an improvement, it wasn't a wince at least, so that has to be a good thing.

"I can ma-"

"You've a feast to make, Punkster. Don't need you getting sick of cooking half way through." Steve grins over at him, and Phil shakes his head, standing again, going to Hershey's food cupboard, giving her one of the fish cookies from a couple of weeks ago. "I'm still not sure if I'm jealous of those... Fish cookies are weird, but she does seem to love them, and damn if they don't smell good." The toaster pops, and Steve starts spreading peanut butter on the first two slices, setting them down in front of Phil.

"They double as people food if you wanna try one." He laughs, and takes a bite of the toast.

"It's okay... I think Miss Hershey would take a chunk outta me if I tried to steal one of her cookies. Isn't that right, Wonder Dog?" Hershey looks up form licking the crumbs of her cookie up, something in her big brown eyes saying yes.

"Well, they are her's, and you've plenty of cookies of your own to eat, Steve." Phil grins at him, and Steve nods, sitting with his own plate of toast. "You up for helping prep, or are you going to be incapacitated by football?" Phil finishes the last of his toast, looking slightly mournful that it's all gone.

"I'll help, don't worry. I'll watch the game with Jim, when he and his wife come over." Steve considers if he should make another round of toast, but decides that cookies are probably a better choice and opens the jar. It should be more worrying than it is that the cookie jar has been moved to sitting on the kitchen table instead of on the counter. He really is going to have to consider joining the gym in town; he's getting too soft around the middle.

"His wife _is_ coming over?" Phil sounds surprised, and Steve nods.

"Yup, Jan... She's a good woman, a fine cook." Steve laughs, and Phil shakes his head, taking a cookie, and nibbling at it thoughtfully.

"She's making pie?" Phil asks, and Steve nods. "Hmm, I wonder if she can give me some tips for my pastry..." He trails off, clearly lost in his own thoughts, and Steve leaves him to it. The kid tends to get distracted by his thought process, and it's kind of adorable really.

"I think she's bringing some over... I pushed for pecan, and a pumpkin one... Jan makes a damn fine pumpkin pie. I'm sure if you ask, she'll give you some advice." Steve grins, and Phil nods. The only pie he'd seemed content with is the apple one that's sitting in the fridge ready to be heated through. He's been working on something all secret for a while, and Steve thinks it's something to do with the pie, but he's not sure. Phil has many secret cooking projects he runs in the mornings before Steve gets up. It's worrying how often Steve's woken up to fresh muffins, or grits. He'd been surprised that Phil had known how to cook those, but it seems that he's been reading Steve's wife's old recipes, and practicing them. His mac and cheese is almost as good as her's had been. He does insist on filling it with vegetables from the patch out back though, and it's taking Steve some time to get used to there being bits of broccoli in with the noodles.

"Okay... I need you start on the sweet potatoes, and I do the beans, okay?" Phil stands, a look of determination coming over him. Steve nods, saluting with a smile on his face.

"My word, you two have been busy!" Jim's wife's voice is a complete surprise, Steve hadn't even heard her come in the house, usually Hershey would be up and to the door when people arrived, but she's been engrossed in watching Phil. It seems she's utterly transfixed when their little houseguest is cooking. Steve had been engrossed too, once he'd finished helping with the prep, he'd sat down under the guise of writing letters, and had instead been watching Phil stalk around the kitchen, stirring, and checking on everything, helping when called over, but mostly just observing.

"It's all Punkster... He's good in the kitchen. I'm a hindrance more than anything." Steve laughs, and the woman chuckles, pulling Steve into a hug.

"You're plenty good at chopping and peeling, Steve. Don't sell yourself short. It's nice to meet you ma'am. I'm Phil." Phil holds his hand out politely, and Jim's wife laughs.

"Ma'am... Heavens above, no... My name is Jan, and I'll thank you to use it. Now let me take a look at you, little one." Her hands rest on Phil's shoulders, her eyes running over him critically. "Handsome little devil, aren't you?" She laughs, letting Phil go, giving Steve a quick questioning glance, when Phil ducks his head, looking embarrassed. Steve isn't sure what to say, or how to respond to the look she just gave him.

"_Okay_, _Jan_." Phil mutters, quietly, turning back to the stove, stirring Cranberry Sauce's namesake.

"Well, that's what smelled so good. What's in it?" Jan hovers over Phil shoulder, and Steve excuses himself in search of Jim. He already knows that the conversation isn't going to be one that'll interest him. Recipes and ingredients are nowhere near as interesting as the finished product in his opinion.

"There you are, Steve... Was thinking you and young Philip were out fishing or something." Jim smiles, in his hands are a pair of pies, and Steve takes them from him. "There's more in the car... I swear she thought we were coming to feed an army... That wife of mine, she doesn't believe Philip can cook... Is convinced that you must be ordering takeout or something." Steve sets the pies down on a table by the front door, and follows Jim out to his truck. Inside there's several dishes of food, all covered carefully, he's just glad that there's not a turkey in there. He's pretty sure Phil would be deeply offended if Jim and Jan had brought their own bird.

"You didn't give her the cookies he gave you last month?" Steve asks, taking what looks like a dish of green beans and carrying it inside.

"Those damn cookies barely made it to the top of your road, Steve... That child is..." Jim trails off, snickering at his wife as she's sitting watching Phil beside Hershey, nibbling on a cookie.

"He's a cookie dealer... Those things have some kind of narcotics in them." Steve laughs, and Jan turns to him look guilty.

"I don't know what to say now... I feel like I brought too much to eat... There's only the four of us, and you boys are gonna stuck eating my leftovers for weeks." She takes another one of the cookies from the jar, looking horrified with herself but not stopping eating. "Why are these here, Steve? This is a terrible place for these crack cookies." Phil's snickering by now, his shoulders shaking, and Steve has to admit, it's good to see the kid enjoying himself so much.

"I assure you, they're one hundred percent drug free, Mrs Ro- Jan." He calls, not turning around, and Jim snorts a laugh, taking a cookie for himself.

"Well, how do I get you to stop calling me Mr Ross? If you're going to be calling my wife by her name, I _have_ to be Jim, Philip." Jim takes a bite of his cookie, and Steve gives up trying to resist the open jar, taking one of the really, _really_ good ones he hid at the bottom.

"I'd imagine you'd start by not calling him Philip, Jim." Steve laughs, taking a seat at the table.

"Phil, Jim, call me Phil." Phil says, still not shifting his attention from his pot. There's a strange almost smug part of Steve that's thinking about Phil quietly asking him to call him Punk. It shouldn't make Steve so happy, but it's a little tactic admission that Steve is closer to Phil than either of the people at the table. It wouldn't surprise Steve to learn that he's the only person not in Illinois that calls Phil Punk. "You know if you keep eating those, you're not going to have room for everything else." Phil finally turns round, and Steve closes the cookie jar, setting it on the counter.

Lunch is an easy affair, the four of them talking happily about nothing important. Tales from Jim travels, tales from the years gone past, all told with the express purpose of making Phil laugh, and all finding their mark. It seemed, to Steve, that he, Jim and Jan had all silently agreed to make sure to make Phil happy, and they'd worked perfectly in concert to do so. By the time for desert rolls around, everyone is stuffed, and Phil's got the happiest smile on his face. Steve feels strangely pleased with himself, he didn't do much of anything, but seeing Phil looks so happy is a great reward for such little work.

"I've eaten too much... I think I'm gonna die." Phil grumbles, and Steve laughs at him. Jim's wife glances over at him, concern on her face. In all honesty, they all ate far too much, and there's still all of the food Jan brought with her. Steve has the feeling that he and Phil will be eating Thanksgiving leftovers till Christmas. He's proud though, not one of Jan's dishes were opened, everything that was eaten was made by Phil, and the kid looks kind of proud too. There's a contented smile on his face, and half-asleep look in his eyes.

"You do look pale, dear. C'mon, you and me slaved over the stove all day, the old men can field clean up." She stands and pats Phil's shoulder, the kid looks at her, and then at Steve.

"Go on, scoot, me and Jim have got this." Steve stands, running the faucet to fill the sink.

"Alright... Alright." Phil mutters, looking dubious, but leaving with Jim's wife.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die too." Jim groans, pushing to his feet. "That boy of yours is a damn fine cook... You'll be needing to hit the gym once he's gone, Steve." He laughs, and nudges Steve out of the way. "You can dry the damn things. I got no idea where you keep anything in this kitchen."

"Well, JR, I'm none too sure I know where most of these pans go myself. I ain't seen half of these in a long time." Steve rubs a hand over his head, and takes up the dishtowel starting to dry the cutlery. "He is a good cook... You think maybe I should encourage him to study it more? See if there's a cooking class in town or something?"

"You can ask him... Did he take up the art lessons from that lady you were telling me about?" Jim's a decent washer, but he's damn slow, and Steve leans against the counter considering if he's room for the apple pie Phil made or not. He's pretty sure if he doesn't start eating it, Phil will insist on Jim and his wife taking it home, and really, when it comes to Phil's cooking he doesn't much like sharing.

"He did... They seem to get on well enough. He's there every night on a day being with T. Weird old owl that one." Steve laughs, and Jim glances at him. "I'm telling you, Jim, she looks like an owl. Just you ask Punkster, he'll back me up."

"She does!" Phil shouts from the living room, and Steve laughs at the odd face Jim pulls. "If you want to eat the pie, remember to heat it up in the oven. I made ice cream for it, it's in the freezer!" Phil shouts again, and Steve thinks he must be pulling an interesting face, because this time Jim laughs at him, but really he didn't expect Phil to have _made_ ice cream, they could have bought that at the store easily enough.

"Well, I suppose we should hit the trail." Jim says after many hours and more food have passed. His wife nodding, accepting a hand up off the couch from her husband.

"I'm going to need to get your recipe for those cookies, Philip." There's no response from Phil, and Steve glances over at him, surprised to find that the kid had fallen asleep. Steve stands, intending to shake his charge awake, when the old woman steps in front of him. "You leave him be now, Steve. Poor thing's tired, you let him get some rest. He can email me the recipe tomorrow." The woman pets Phil's hair gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "He's a sweet little thing... Makes me wish I could persuade this crotchety old man to let us have another one in the house." She straightens up, and ruffles a sleeping Hershey's ears.

"Hush you woman, we're too old and too busy to be looking after kids, and you know it." Jim mutters, shaking his head. "He didn't leave us a doggy bag of cookies?" Jim asks as he hovers at the front door looking hopefully at Steve, there's a noise from inside the house, and suddenly Phil appears clutching a couple of paper bags, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry." He glances nervously at Steve, and holds the bag out to Jim, who takes it and peeks inside, a smile on his face. Steve has no doubt that it's a doggy bag of cookies. "This one's for your wife... Is she in the car?" He asks, holding up the other bag, and Jim nods. "Okay... I'll..." Steve waves him off, and Jim frowns.

"You've _still_ not read the damned file you had me get for you, have you?" The old man snaps, and Steve shakes his head, watching Jim's wife laugh, and pulling Phil into a hug that has him freezing nervously.

"He told me to ask, and I will..." Steve mutters, watching Phil fidget as Jim's wife starts looking in the bag, laughing when she pulls out a sheath of papers.

"And when will that be, Steve? If you want to help him, you need to know what he's dealing with." Jim taps Steve on the shoulder. "He really is opening up to you though, huh?" Jim asks as Phil walks back towards the house, a timid little smile on his face as he meets Steve's eyes.

"I'll ask him when he's ready, and yeah... He is." Steve pulls his friend into a hug, and Jim sighs, a long-suffering but understanding sound.

"Well, Gentlemen, it was lovely, thank you for inviting us." Jim sets his hat on his head, and walks down to his car. "But we must be leaving. I'll see you next month." He calls as he drives off, and Steve grins over at Phil.

"Well, now what was in that baggy? Cause I don't think recipes are gonna be what Jan was so happy about." Phil shrugs at Steve and wanders back into the house, heading for the kitchen.

"Make some coffee, Steve?" He asks, his head in a cupboard when Steve gets there. Steve nods absently, starting a pot.

"So you gonna tell me what was in the bag or not?" He's tempted to peek at what Phil's doing, his head's still buried in the cupboard, but it seems like it's a _surprise_, so Steve stays where he is, watching the pot brewing.

"Take it through to the living room, will you?" Phil asks eventually, poking his head around the cupboard door, a grin on his face. Steve shakes his head, and wanders through to the living room, setting the coffee pot and a couple of cups on the table. Hershey wakes up looking confused, like she'd expected Phil to be beside her still, and hops off the couch, clearly in search of her friend.

"Traitorous dog..." Steve smiles at her back, he's glad she and Phil have bonded, but he kind of misses her being _his_ shadow.

_Don't be jealous, my rattlesnake. She loves him, and he loves her. It's good for her to have new friends._

Steve can almost hear his wife laughing at him; can almost feel her fingers rubbing over his baldhead, and her lips pressing a kiss to it.

_When he's gone, she'll be all alone with only you, so let her have this for now._

"Ta-dah!" Phil sounds unreasonably pleased when he sets a box of candies down on the table, and Steve glances at it, and then at Phil. "Open it." He grins, and Steve does as he's asked. Inside there's some very clearly homemade chocolates, and Steve stares at Phil. "I've been working on them for a while, that's what's in the bag I gave Mrs Ross."

"You _made_ candies? You _made _all of these?" Steve's more than a little bewildered. Of all the things in the World he assumed Phil to be doing, becoming a chocolatier was not on the list.

"Uh-huh... Took me forever, but I thought it'd be... _Fun_ to learn, and it wasn't hard once I got the hang of tempering." He grins again, and hands Steve a little slip of paper. On the paper, there's a little drawing of each chocolate, and a description of the filling.

"You're a strange kid, Punkster... I should be enrolling you in chef school or something." Steve picks out one the paper suggests is hard caramel, and pops it in his mouth. It's not a real surprise when it's damn good. He's beginning to think that Phil really should pursue some kind of culinary career; he's more than got the talent for it.

"I don't wanna be a chef." Phil shrugs, picking out a white chocolate, and grinning. "Maybe keep making these though... Try these ones, they're good." He sounds unreasonably pleased with himself, and Steve takes the candy Phil suggested. It's sweet, but not overly so, a hint of sharp raspberry something in the middle to counter the white chocolate. "See, good right?" Phil grins, picking out another one of his creations, and Steve nods. He has the terrible feeling that this box isn't going to last too long sitting beside him. He's already got a mental list of what he wants to eat in his head, and it's currently sitting at one of each and as many of the hard caramels as he can.

"I'm gonna need to get a membership at the gym." Steve mutters around a mouthful of chocolate, and Phil laughs.

"Don't be stupid, you look good." It has to be the light, but Steve _swears_ he can see a blush on Phil's cheeks, but it _has _to be the light.

That night as Steve lies in bed, he can't help but thinking about what he's grateful for. This time last year the list had been short, nothing but Hershey on it. In those dark times after she died, all Steve had was Hershey, all he'd wanted was that sweet pup's company, but now that's changed. The things he has to be thankful for has expanded so much, and are so focussed on one person. Back in August Good Ol' JR had said that he thought Phil would be _good_ for Steve, and as he lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Steve thinks he agrees.

The final weekend of November comes after a strange week. Phil had been in an odd mood, quiet, but not withdrawn, just lost in his own thoughts. It's silly but Steve had felt almost jealous of that, he'd felt stupidly like he deserved some of Phil's attention, but he was caught up in some book from school all week, forgoing even watching TV with Steve to read. Saturday begins with the traditional Saturday breakfast of pancakes, though the side of Jan's cranberry sauce is decided untraditional, it works strangely well. After the dishes are put away, it's time to write, Steve with his letters, and Phil his homework, only Phil is fidgeting, staring into his coffee cup, his homework spread out but untouched.

"We need to take a fishing trip?" Steve asks eventually, taking one of the cookies from the plate between them.

"Huh?" Phil looks up, blinking owlishly, and Steve briefly wonders if Phil's _maybe_ spending too much time with Mrs Davis.

"You've been quiet all week Punkster... Fishing usually takes your mind off things." Steve smiles, taking a bite of his cookie, watching a _little_ smile spread over Phil's lips.

"This book..." Phil taps to the book he's been reading all week. "It's a script... I got _drafted_ into the end of term show." Phil sighs, looking at once annoyed and excited. "Alls I wanted to do was help paint the backdrops... Maybe some scenery, but _no_ apparently I've gotta be _in_ the thing." Phil takes a cookie, and bites it clean in half, chomping on the half in his mouth vigorously.

"When is it?" Steve takes another cookie, using eating to mask the laughter that wants to escape him. In the past, there were some kids who have lived on the ranch who would have _loved_ to be offered a role in this show. Whilst Phil might not fully _want_ to be in it, it's clear that for all his bluster, he's excited to be asked.

"Last week of term..." Phil takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and Steve furrows his eyebrows, not sure what could have brought such seriousness out in his little charge. "I know you probably have things to do, and I _know_ you won't want to, but..." Phil sighs again, his head bowing, his hands curling in his sleeves, his voice growing quieter and more full of doubt the longer he talks. "It'd mean a lot to me... And... _Forget it_." He stands suddenly, leaving the room, then the house, and Steve stays in his seat a moment longer, blinking dumbly at the empty space Phil once occupied.

_Go on, get! Go to him, rattlesnake! You tell him that not even the hounds of hell could keep you from watching him in this show!_

Steve smiles, he knows that if she were here, there would never be this delay. She'd have followed Phil out and then pulled him back inside, telling him he was being ridiculous.

"No way, I ain't gonna be there." Steve sits down by Phil on the swing bench on the veranda, pushing with his feet, making it sway slightly. Phil doesn't look at him, just curls up more, fussing over Hershey when she jumps up beside him. Steve keeps the bench moving gently, watching Phil pet Hershey out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what's happened to you, Punkster... You can tell me when you're ready, but I'm here... If you need me, _when_ you need me, don't be afraid to ask, okay?" Steve doesn't look at Phil, but he can feel the weight of Phil looking at him. "I ain't goin' anywheres, when you're here, you're mine." Steve hears a sudden, sharp inhalation of breath from Phil, then there's a warmth against his side. Phil had scooted closer, very slightly closer, their thighs _just _touching. They sit out there a long time, Phil moving a little closer every so often, till he's sitting close enough to Steve for Hershey to have sprawled herself on the other side of the bench.

_See... Look how much he trusts you, rattlesnake. Look how much more relaxed he is. He's doing fine, one day... Someday soon, he'll tell you everything._

Steve closes his eyes at the thought of her voice, closes his eyes against the thought of hearing Phil's story. He _knows_ it's going to be nothing good, he knows it's going to break his heart, and fill him with fury. No one has the right to scare a kid so much; no one has the right to terrify someone as sweet and good as Phil into this nervous, terrified wreck of a child.

"T..." Phil croaks, then pauses clearing his throat. "Tomorrow... Would you... Will you help me with my lines?" Steve nods, and without thinking wraps an arm around Phil's shoulders quickly, squeezing him tightly once, before standing.

"Sure thing, Punkster. Does mean that today we gotta get all this writing outta the way." Steve wanders into the house, and lets the grin that'd been dying to break out spread over his lips. When he'd hugged him, Phil hadn't flinched, hadn't tensed up, hadn't pulled away. What he'd done was leaning into Steve, he'd relaxed, he'd been comforted, and Steve thinks that's another thing to add to his things to be thankful for list.

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**_pleb, **_**_Brokenspell77, _**_****_AshJoivillette,_** **_Shiki94, **_**_littleone1389,_**_**_** and **_Rebellecherry._**_**

_First off - I'm super sorry for the dealy on this chapter... Life and I aren't friends right now, in fact I am considering contacting Life's Manager and complaining about the sodding lemons I keep getting handed. (anyone wanna give me a plot lemon? LoL) I'm hoping the next few weeks are more calm, but exam season is looming, so it might not be. Secondly - THANK YOU so much for your reviews, they really have been desperately encouraging. I am in all honesty freaking out about this fic, there's a lot that I think can go wrong (and possibly is), but your reviews assuage my fears. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, and if there's anything horrifically wrong about Thanksgiving let me know, I'm a Brit, I live in China, I've never been to the USA, so everything is research and guesswork which can go very wrong!_

**_Happy (early) Thanksgiving!_**

**Needless to say... I'm _more_ than interested in your thoughts, so please review!**


	5. December

**Warnings**: AU, Implied Child Abuse, Mild Profanity. **Eventual** **Warnings**: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), Smut, Age difference.

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><p>"So, when you wanna get a tree?" Steve has always liked Christmas, and usually on the first of December, he'd have already had the tree in the house, ready to let the kids have at it. Last year, even when it'd been just him and Hershey, he'd gone and cut a small tree down. The decorations had been pitiful, but you need a tree at Christmas. It just isn't Christmas without a tree.<p>

"A tree?" Phil glances up from making breakfast, and shrugs. "I don't mind... Whenever, I guess."

"Aww, c'mon, Punkster. Christmas is important. Gotta have a tree, and lights... All that stuff." Steve pours tWo cups of coffee, sits on his chair, sipping at his cup as Phil plates up, and serves breakfast.

"It's never been a big deal for me." He starts eating, and Steve can feel a stab of anger in his gut. If Phil had never had a proper birthday celebration before, it's hardly surprising he's never had a real Christmas.

"Well... I'll get a tree in the middle of the week. Decorating can commence on the weekend." Steve says firmly, and Phil shakes his head with a look of indulgent amusement on his face. This Christmas, Steve decides, is going to be special, he's going to make it _perfect_ for Phil, the kid deserves that at least.

When the weekend rolls around, Steve gets himself up early, early enough to beat even Phil out of bed. He has to admit he's excited. He'd spent all week pulling boxes out of storage and sorting through the decorations to Phil's increasing bemusement. The arrival of the tree, in its bucket waiting for its decorating had at least sparked _something _in Phil; there'd been the hint of something like glee on his face. Steve's noticed him sitting staring at the undecorated tree, an odd faraway look in his eyes more than once.

Phil wanders into the kitchen, his hair a bedraggled mess, still wearing his pyjamas, and Steve smirks at him as he stares wide-eyed and confused at Steve.

"You're up early." Phil yawns, shuffling around to the fridge, opening the door, and hiding behind it. "What you want for breakfast?" He emerges with the orange juice bottle, and pours himself a glass, drinking it down quickly.

"Course I'm up early, there's a lot of work to be done, Punkster. Whatever you wanna make is fine with me." Steve pours out a couple of cups of coffee, setting one down on the counter closest to Phil. "You sure you don't wanna head back to bed? You look pretty tired there." Steve almost reaches out to tilt Phil's face up to him, but he wisely stops his hand before it makes contact with Phil. There's no doubt that the kid wouldn't appreciate the touch.

"I'm good... You really take this Christmas business seriously, huh?" Phil seems more awake for having drunk his juice, but the dark smudges under his eyes are more than a little concerning. A kid shouldn't look so very tired all the time, and those dark rings are almost permanent parts of Phil's face.

"Of course, it's serious business, Punkster." Steve grins at him, and Phil nods absently.

"So where do we start? I've seen the _boxes_..." Phil smiles, and Steve considers, he thinks that the yard is a good place to start really. It'll get them out of the house, leaving it for when it's later in the day. It's always better to decorate the house in the evening.

It takes them all of the daylight hours of Saturday to get the yard and the outside of the house up to Steve's exacting standards, but once they're finished, even Phil looks impressed. It looks like slightly odd, all the festive cheer in a Texan winter, but Steve's always liked the lights, and models that make up his Christmas lawn ornaments.

"How'd you think it'll look at night?" Phil asks, an oddly satisfied look on his face as he twists one statue of an angel slightly around to the left.

"Well, once it's dark out, we'll switch them on and see." Steve grins, and Phil nods. He actually looks almost excited, and Steve can't help the rush of pride that fills him. "C'mon, feed me, chef. I'm hungry, and we've work to do inside."

"Yeah, yeah..." Phil's mutter sounds more amused than anything else, and for that Steve is more than grateful.

"Well, I'd say we did a good job, Punkster." Steve thinks he's probably standing too close to Phil for the kid to be comfortable, but he really is impressed with their work. After dinner, they'd gotten straight to decorating, and now the house is a festive wonderland. Lights, garlands, sparkling, shimmering ornaments hanging all over the place, and the piece de resistance is the tree. Steve had been surprised when Phil had basically taken over decorating it. He clearly had a _creative vision_, and had been working to see it fulfilled. It's possibly the prettiest tree Steve's ever seen.

"Yeah... I think so." Phil turns to Steve with a grin, and glances outside at the darkening night. "I need to get the chickens. I'll lock them up for the night, then come and make hot chocolate, then we can see how the yard looks all lit up, right?" There's a hint of pleading in Phil's tone, and Steve nods, he sees no flaws in Phil's plan, in fact, it sounds like the perfect idea to him.

Sunday is spent writing, with the Christmas classics on the stereo. Phil it turns out knows a lot of them, and has a rather sweet habit of singing along when he's distracted. More times than Steve could count, he was treated to an impromptu duet between Bing or Andy and Phil. The kid has a nice voice, a little reedy maybe, but not bad, one that Steve listened to quite happily for hours.

The week after the decorating, Phil seems to descend into an odd mood. He's not sullen, but he's certainly quiet. There's something on his mind that has his attention, even as they sit running lines, he seems not quite all there. So come Saturday Steve announces that they're going out to the lake. Phil had nodded vaguely, clearly not really paying all that much attention.

"So, what's eating you, Punkster?" Steve asks, and Phil laughs, shaking his head as he watches the end of his line. They've been out on the lake for maybe an hour and nothing has been biting. They'll go hungry this afternoon at this rate.

"I'm going away for a couple of weeks, over Christmas. I spoke to Jim about it, and he says its okay." Phil doesn't look at him, and really Steve kind of grateful for that. He'd been planning Christmas with Phil, had been thinking about what to get him, but he's not going to be at home, well not at the ranch at least.

"Where you off to?" Steve wonders if he sounds as disappointed as he feels, because he does feel disappointed. He'd _wanted_ to have Phil there for Christmas, had wanted to give him the kind of Christmas he'd probably never had.

"My friend's... Scott? You remember I've told you about him. He's going to see family out of Illinois, and I miss him." There's a fond little lilt to Phil's voice, a fond little smile on his face. It's an expression he always wears on the rare occasions when he talks about his not sisters and his friend Scott. These people clearly mean the World to him, and there's a part of Steve that wants to invite them to the ranch, to hell with what their plans are, he'd like a house full of people Phil loves around for Christmas, it'd be so much better than just him and Hershey again this year.

"Well, you have a good time, Punkster." Steve forces himself to sound happy, forces himself sound like he's okay with this, but he's not. He knows he should be, but he's going to miss Phil, and that's what it all comes down to, he's gotten used to having Phil in the house, in his life. If he's gone, even for a little while, Steve's not sure what it'll be like, but if nothing else, it'll be a good test-run for when Phil goes for good in the Summer. Punk looks over at Steve, something strange in his eyes, and Steve forces his smile to be brighter, tries for more sincere.

"Will you be okay on your own?" Phil asks softly, the happiness in his voice shrivelling up and dying. Steve nods, but the look in those far too big, far too perceptive eyes makes it clear that he's not getting away with pretending to be fine with Phil.

"I'll be okay. I'm sure me and Hershey will manage with you gone. Don't worry, we'll be fine." Steve smiles again, and this time it feels sincere. He wants Phil to have a good time, he wants him to enjoy his break, he certainly doesn't want Phil being unhappy because of him. "Course Christmas dinner will be toast, but it was last yea-"

"I didn't think..." Phil interrupts suddenly, turning to Steve once more. "I can canc-"

"_No_!" Steve laughs hoping to take the edge off of the harshness of the tone he just used, the wince that Phil had given because of it making him feel awful. "No..." Steve knocks Phil's foot with his own, drawing Phil's attention to him. "I always liked Christmas the most. She... My wife, she was never that bothered by it, but I _loved_ it." Phil looks confused, and Steve thinks now is a good time to talk about her with Phil. It might seem inappropriate, initially it might look like this is a tale to persuade Phil to stay, but it's the opposite. This tale should make it easier for Phil to go spend time with the people he loves. "Every year I'd go pretend to be Santa at the Junior School concert."

"_Buffest Santa ever_." Phil mutters under his breath, and Steve laughs, lightly clapping Phil's shoulder.

"I was far _buffer_ back then, but I wasn't in the midst of a cookie addiction." There's that hint of a blush on Phil's cheeks again, but Steve chooses to ignore it in favour of keeping telling his story. "So, when we found out we couldn't have kids, I was... Well I was real upset. I'd always wanted to go the whole nine yards with Christmas for my kids." Steve squeezes Phil's shoulder, and takes his hand away. Its nice how much more relaxed Phil is now, especially when it comes to physical contact. He'd almost seemed to be leaning into Steve touch, almost seemed to try and chase his hand as he'd withdrawn it. "Lights on the roof, fake snow in the yard... All that shit, but kids weren't for us, you know." Phil makes an agreeing noise, and Steve glances over at him, taking note of the odd look on his face, something tightly unhappy. "So we decided to adopt."

"What happened there?" Phil asks, he sounds like he's nothing more than interested, and Steve smiles slightly, remember his wife coming to him all excited at the idea of helping dozens and dozens of kids instead of just one or two.

"We met Jim." Steve laughs, and Phil nods, reeling in the first fish he's managed to catch all morning. "The first year, that Christmas we had maybe four kids, the youngest was all of five. The oldest was your age... I put on my Santa outfit, left presents on the end of their beds... Christmas morning, the little one was up first telling everyone who she'd seen Santa sneaking around." Steve smiles at the memory. The little girl, Maria, had been sent to them because her mother had gone to prison on drug trafficking charges, now she's a little older than Phil, doing real well, at least by the sounds of her letters. "The oldest, well he'd been a real tearaway, tried to runaway three times in the first month, but that Christmas he sat and played with the little ones. He works in a middle school somewhere up north now. Good kid." The turnaround in that kid after that Christmas had been incredible, but Christmas is always a time for miracles. "Every year after that Christmas was an excuse for me to get the Christmas I'd always wanted as a kid."

"You didn't have good Christmases?" Phil busies himself with fixing a new worm to his hook, Steve hadn't really noticed, but Phil had been sitting staring at him the whole time he'd been talking.

"My family were... Not _poor,_ but Christmas wasn't really special you know? Just something small... I always wanted it to be this big event. I always wanted a white Christmas. Every year I'd pray for snow." Phil laughs, and Steve snorts at him, bumping against his shoulder. "I know, I know, not likely in Texas, but I was a kid."

"I'm pretty used to white Christmases... It's weird it being winter and not having to wear all my clothes at once." Phil laughs, and Steve nods. It might not be cold, but it's not stopped Phil from living in that Cubs cap and beat-up hoodie. "I'm never at my parents' place for Christmas... Scott, he's Jewish, so I'd go there, and it's just another normal day for them, well it's in the middle of Hanukah, but you know no big deal. My sisters' mom though, she'd always ask me over for dinner, and Scott'd tag along, and we'd eat and eat and eat, and she'd always give us presents. I don't think my parents ever noticed I wasn't there." Phil sighs and casts his line. "I don't... I don't know... I guess I kind of like spending Christmas with the people I know love me, you know?"

"That why you wanna go see them?" Steve asks, that was the longest Phil's ever said about his life in Chicago, and as with every other little thing about Phil's parents Steve's heard, it makes him want to gut them. He's glad Phil had his friends, his not sisters, but the people who should love him the most just _don't_, and it infuriates Steve.

"Yeah, pretty much... You sure you're gonna be okay on your own? Won't it remind you of last year?" Phil glances over at Steve, and whatever expression is on Steve's face holds Phil's attention. "_Steve_." He says softly, his hand resting on Steve's shoulder. "I can stay if you like." He says quietly, and Steve shakes his head.

"Oh no, you're going to go, and you're going to have a good time. I'll be fine, Punkster, don't worry about me. I've got Hershey to keep me company." He smiles, and Phil nods, a tight little gesture.

"I'll call you." He says firmly, and Steve laughs, very gently resting his hand on Phil's squeezing briefly, before taking his rod back up, and turning back to the water. Phil's fingers press against his shoulder for the briefest moment, before he sighs. "This stupid play is on Monday... You gonna be able to come? I asked the Owl, and she seems pretty keen..."

"Course, wouldn't miss it! Your big acting debut? I'll be there, I'll even film it." Steve laughs, and Phil groans, setting his rod down, and fishing his lines from the pocket in his hoodie.

"Run these with me again will you?" He asks, and Steve takes the paper. He thinks he knows this damned play as well as Phil by now, if the kids that feed Phil's lines get sick, Steve will be able to fill in for them at this rate.

Come Monday Steve has to admit he's excited. He's never been to one of these school plays before, and it's with a mixture of pride and trepidation that he takes a seat by the Owl, nods a greeting to her.

"Well, Steve... Did you manage to help our Philip learn his lines? He's been twittering like a little bird about it for the last few lessons. I never had him down as the worrying type, but he certainly has been distracted." The Owl smiles, and Steve nods.

"Don't you worry, Mrs Davis, he'll be just fine." Steve smiles, leafing through the program that was sitting on the chair.

"It's a nice picture isn't it?" The Owl sounds strangely proud, and Steve supposes that the picture of Phil in the program is pretty good. It's certainly far better than the last picture Steve saw of him.

"Very handsome." Steve agrees absently, flicking through the rest of the pages, and the Owl laughs.

"He'll certainly be a heartbreaker in a few years." She offers Steve a bag of hard candies as the lights dim, and a hush falls over the room.

"How'd I do?" Is the first thing out of Phil's mouth when the play is finished. Steve can't help the grin on his face. Phil's still in costume, a huge beaming smile, and a bright happy light in his eyes. He looks pleased with himself, and Steve has to admit he has good reason to be, he's a natural storyteller, he'd looked damn good on stage, far better than his cast-mates, in Steve's opinion.

"You did good, Punkster." Steve tells him, and is utterly taken aback when Phil hugs him tightly, almost whispering _thank you _to him.

"I was very impressed too, you know." The Owl chimes in, and Phil lets go of Steve quickly, and turns to her with a laugh.

"Gloria? You came? I didn't think you would!" He starts chattering to the Owl, and Steve shakes his head. He'd known that Phil and the Owl would get on well, but to be on first name basis, for her to be someone Phil had clearly been so invested in watching him is a surprise. "I should go get changed..." Phil sounds like the last thing he wants to do is leave though, he seems incredibly happy in that moment.

"Well, Mrs Davis, I was planning on feeding this one in town tonight... It'd be my great honour to have you dine with us." Steve pours on the charm, and the Owl laughs at him easily.

"Two handsome gentlemen and dinner? What lady could say no? Go get changed little brat, I know just the place to eat." She turns to Phil, and he nods, scampering off. "You really didn't have to invite me." She says calmly, and Steve smiles at her, letting her take his arm when she stands.

"Well, I have the feeling that Phil's gonna be talking a mile a minute, giving him a bigger audience is only gonna be a good thing." Steve mutters, joining in with the Owl's laughter.

"He is a chatty little thing once he gets going, isn't he?" She sounds desperately fond of Phil, and Steve nods, Phil does sometimes ramble on, but it's not a bad thing, it's a wonderful thing in the face of the sullen silence that he'd come to Texas with.

"_Mom!_" There's a horrified sounding voice, and a tall pointy woman appears in front of them. Steve supposes this is Phil's art teacher. "_What_ are you doing here?" The woman hisses, and Steve glances over at the Owl, who's straightened herself up, almost puffing herself up like a wild animal trying to appear bigger in the face of a threat.

"I am here to support my dear student, Cynthia." She snaps, and the other woman almost withers.

"Your student?" She mutters, and at that moment, Phil appears, looking miserable at the appearance of his art teacher. "Mr Brooks?" Phil winces when she calls him that, and Steve has to bite his cheek to keep from giving this woman a tongue-lashing.

"_Cynthia!_" The Owl has not such restraint it seems. "You will _not_ talk to my students in such a tone." The old woman almost snarls at her daughter, and Phil's art teacher ducks her head.

"Sorry, mom." She mumbles, and Steve can feel a rush of fondness for the old woman on his arm. "You were very good on stage, Philip." The art teacher says in a far politer tone, and Phil nods awkwardly.

"Thank you Ms Davis." He says quietly, and the Owl takes Phil's arm, patting his hand.

"Now, gentlemen, let's go." She says smugly, leading them past her daughter. "Honestly... That girl, I was sure I'd raised her better than that." She mutters just loud enough for her daughter, still standing down the corridor, to hear. Steve meets Phil's eye over the Owl's head, and smiles at him, getting an oddly tentative, but happy one in return.

Over dinner, Phil and the Owl engage in a long rambling conversation about art, most of which Steve doesn't understand, but he's more than happy to let them talk. It's kind of nice to just watch, it's good to see Phil relaxed, and happy. The old woman has a clear soft spot for Phil, and it's kind of obvious that Phil has one for her. It's rather like she's somehow installed herself as some kind of surrogate grandmother for him.

Once they've dropped the Owl at home, Phil sits up front with Steve, a softly contented smile on his face.

"You're pretty good at the whole acting thing, Punkster." Steve smiles over at Phil, watching a slight blush spreading over his cheeks.

"Nah... Not really." Phil mutters, ducking his head slightly, but that sweet little smile is still on his face. Steve laughs at him, and Phil turns to him sharply.

"Modesty will get you nowhere." Steve tells him, and Phil laughs, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm proud of you... You did good." Steve tells him firmly, and Phil nods, but says nothing, instead he sits quietly as they head home, that little smile on his face the whole way.

When Steve opens the front door, Hershey bounds past him, practically tackling Phil to the ground, licking his face enthusiastically.

"Hello Hershey. Did you miss me today or something?" Phil laughs, rubbing at her sides. "You missed my on-stage debut, but I'm sure you'd have been incredibly bored." Hershey doesn't seem to be listening or inclined to let Phil up, she's settled on top of him, giving his face happy little licks every so often.

"You know, she's very attached to you." Steve says offhandedly, watching Phil trying and failing at getting up from under the dog.

"She's a good dog. Aren't you, Hershey? Yes, you are, a good girl, very clever, aren't you?" Phil's clearly not all that bothered by being pinned by the dog, so Steve leaves them to it, heading off to lock the chickens up for the night.

"That's my job!" Phil shouts after him, and Steve waves him off. He's not going to interrupt the emotional reunion. Hershey missed her little charge, and she's clearly not going to let Phil up until she's certain he's not going to be gone for an unexpectedly long time again. How she's going to manage when Phil's gone for Christmas Steve isn't sure, but if he's honest there's a little part of him that's not sure how he's going to manage.

School finishes up on Thursday, Phil tells him the next morning, and Steve nods, glancing quickly at the calendar, realising that's his birthday. He'd forgotten until that moment, and almost considers telling Punk about it, but decides against it. It's nothing important, despite the fuss he'd made over Phil's birthday; Steve's never been overly fond of his own. It's always been far too much hassle for something so very unimportant.

Come Thursday morning, a soft knock on his bedroom door wakes Steve up, and standing there, is a nervous looking Phil, in his hands is a tray covered with food.

"Uh... Happy Birthday?" He sounds as nervous as he looks, and Steve sits up groggily, grinning at the kid.

"Now, how the hell did you know it was my birthday?" Steve never did tell him, and had expected this year to pass by uncelebrated as it had last year, but somehow, someway Phil had found out.

"I asked Jan..." He hands Steve the tray, and goes quickly back to stand by the door, his eyes downcast, a pale blush on his cheeks. "I uh... I'm... Happy Birthday." Phil turns on his tail, and vanishes down the corridor. Steve glances at Hershey who's sitting by the bed looking at him, hoping for some of the delicious smelling food on the tray.

"Well, what's up with him?" He asks the dog, and scratches an itch on his chest, wondering if he should have warned Phil he tended to sleep naked.

By the time Steve's downstairs, Phil's already ready for school, looking like he's planning on heading out to catch the bus for his last day before the holidays.

"I might have to have birthdays more often if I can get such good breakfasts in bed." Steve laughs as he drops the dirty dishes off in the kitchen, grinning at Phil. The kid looks _fidgety_, there's a strange blush on his cheeks, and Steve shakes his head, not really sure what to do with himself.

"You have anything planned for your birthday?" Phil mumbles, not looking at Steve, instead he's fussing with his clothes, and Steve laughs.

"Nope, not a thing, well nothing out of the ordinary at least. There's plenty to be done, you know." Phil nods at Steve's words, and glances up at the clock in the kitchen.

"I need to go... I'll be back late, lesson with the Owl... I can cancel though... I mean, if you want me to make something special or something..." Phil definitely sounds nervous and Steve isn't sure why in the least.

"I'll heat up some soup, and you can make grilled cheese." Steve steps a little closer to Phil, trying to catch the kid's eye. There's something playing on his mind, and Steve wants to get to the bottom of it quickly, but it's really not the time or place for that.

"Doesn't sound like a very _special_ birthday dinner..." Phil trails off, looking up finally, an odd little smile on his face. "I'll do something nice tomorrow." He grins, and Steve nods. He had the feeling Phil would want to do something nice before he left on Saturday. Steve's really not sure how he and Hershey are going to manage for the two weeks Phil's going to be gone, but he supposes they'll manage. They did okay on their own last year, and they'll do okay on their own this year too.

"It's not much, but I do have a little present for you." Phil says once he's back from his lesson with the Owl that evening. He wanders through to his bedroom, and comes back with a large wrapped box. Steve glances up from the soup he's heating on the stove to stare at the box. "Go on, open it, I'll take over dinner. You shouldn't be cooking on your birthday anyways." Phil starts making grilled cheese to go with the soup. Soup and sandwiches seems to have become their traditional day beginning with a "T" dinner, if only because after a full day of school, and then the two hours with the Owl tires Phil out.

"This is a mighty big box, Punkster." Steve mutters, regarding the carefully wrapped parcel.

"It's not much, but I wasn't sure what to get you..." Phil mutters, not looking up from cooking. Steve unwraps the parcel and chuckles.

"Well damn... This is a fine present." Steve laughs. Inside the box is a cookie, maybe a foot in diameter. It's possibly the greatest, and most terrible present Steve's ever been given.

"You like it?" Phil asks, pouring the soup into bowls, and cutting the sandwiches. "I wasn't sure if you would... I mean you keep saying you're getting fat, and I really don't think you are, I mean you look-" Phil cuts himself off, and carries the food to the table. "I couldn't see anything in the stores that you'd like, and I know you like those cookies, so I thought it'd be a good idea, and it doubles up as a cake." Phil smiles, and Steve sits down opposite Phil.

"It's a damn fine present. Thank you." Steve takes a bite of his sandwich, resisting the considerable allure of that monster of a cookie. He can already taste how good it'll be, and it's all for him. He glances up at Phil, watching him eat. Whatever has happened to him, it's not made him a bad person, an awkward nervous one, maybe, but at his core, Phil's a good person, a sweet considerate person. The more he thinks on it, the more Phil reminds him of his wife. She'd been good through and through, just like Phil. They'd have gotten on so very well.

After dinner, they sit and watch TV for a while, talking about nothing overly important. There's something lazy and comfortable between them, that and last of Phil's homemade chocolates, that Steve's sure have been topped up with more of the hard caramel ones he loves so much. Eventually, after Phil yawns for the third time, Steve decides it's probably time to head to bed, Phil won't go unless Steve's made it clear he's turning in himself for some strange reason.

"I'm calling it a night, Punkster." Steve says, standing. Phil gets up, and shuffles over to Steve, an odd look in his eyes, almost like he's steeling himself. The hug that Steve gets wrapped up in is utterly unexpected, and when Phil doesn't pull away for flinch when Steve returns the hug is a far better present than even the monstrous cookie. As Phil pulls away from Steve, he presses a _tiny_ barely there kiss to Steve's cheek, turning away quickly, calling an oddly high-pitched _goodnight _with Hershey on his heels.

As he lies in bed that night, Steve longs to hear the voice of his wife, longs to hear her explain that peck of a kiss, but she and his mind are silent, they have nothing to tell him about it.

"We need to go to the store... I need to make sure you have enough food to last while I'm gone." Steve can't say he's surprised that Phil is awake; he's also not surprised that Phil isn't mentioning the kiss he gave Steve last night. He'd lain awake puzzling over that most of the night, but by the look of Phil, he'd slept well.

"You gonna make me up baggies of stew to reheat while you're gone, Punkster?" Steve laughs, starting a pot of coffee.

"Stew, soup, chilli, things you can stick in a pot and heat through. I don't want you living on nothing but toast. There's cookies in the box in the cupboard, try and ration them, but birthday cookie should last you a while." Phil mutters, dishing up breakfast.

"You're gonna be busy today then?" Steve laughs, and Phil shrugs. Steve isn't sure if he's happy or not that the kiss isn't going to be discussed. He's not sure what to make of it, and really, he thinks he shouldn't be so fixated on it, but he can't just let it go, because no one's kissed him, not even a peck on the cheek, in over a year. It might just be the way Phil is, he might just be an affectionate creature, and once he lets you in that's it, you'll get cuddles, and pecks on the cheek without thought. If that's the case, Steve doesn't think he'll mind overly.

"I guess so... Don't worry, I'll still make you a nice day after your birthday dinner. Pick something you like." Phil smiles up at Steve. It's clear that the only person who's on the back foot with the whole kissing thing is Steve, it's not bothering Phil in the least, so he'll have just deal with it himself.

"Anything I like... Might just pick more cookies." Steve laughs, breaking out the monster cookie, snapping some off, and handing a piece to Phil.

"Oh no, that's yours." Phil holds his hand up, refusing the cookie.

"C'mon, something this big has to be for sharing, Punkster." Steve insists, and Phil sighs relenting. "Is it good?"

"Steve... It's the same cookies I make almost every week." Phil laughs around a mouthful.

"Just making sure." Steve takes a bite, and resolutely closes the lid to the cookie's box. He has the terrible feeling that cookie won't be seeing Christmas, he's almost certain it won't be seeing Sunday.

Saturday morning, Steve almost doesn't want to get out of bed. There's a selfish part of him that doesn't want to drive Phil to the airport, it's a silly part that wants to keep Phil at home so they can have Christmas together, but he ignores it, and hauls his ass out from under the covers, pulling on his clothes quickly, and coming downstairs to silence. He'd expected Phil to be up and about, getting ready, maybe even making breakfast, but there's nothing. Something in Steve is suddenly utterly convinced that Phil's gone already, that he'd changed his travel plans and had Jim come pick him up. The urge to check to see if Phil's in his room is too strong to ignore so Steve doesn't even bother trying, going straight to the little room Phil sleeps in. The door is half open, and inside Steve can see Hershey curled up on the end of the bed. He pokes his head around the door, and smiles. Phil's fast asleep, half in bed, half out of it. It looks like he'd started getting up, and fallen back asleep halfway through. Steve glances at his watch, if they leave quickly, they'll be able to grab breakfast at the diner and still have time to make Phil's flight.

"Punkster?" Steve creeps into the room, and whispers softly, his hand hovering nervously over Phil's sleeping form. "C'mon, wakey-wakey." Steve very carefully shakes Phil's shoulder, getting an odd little sleepy snuffle from him, but nothing else. "C'mon." Steve shakes him a little more, but again Phil does nothing but squirm slightly. Steve shakes his head, and sighs, deciding to take a different approach. He approaches the sleeping Hershey and very quietly whispers _rabbits go get 'em_ in her ear. Even asleep, the prospect of hunting has Hershey excited, and she leaps off the bed, jolting Phil awake. "Morning." Steve says dryly, and Phil blinks up at him, rubbing his eyes, looking _cute_.

"Morning?" He yawns, and Steve shakes his head, ruffling Phil's hair without really thinking about it.

"Morning, get dressed, we'll eat in town, but you'll need to hurry to make your flight." Steve leaves the room feeling strangely pleased. Phil hadn't flinched, hadn't shied from the casual contact that he didn't initiate, and it fills Steve with an odd sense of _hope_.

The whole ride to the airport from the diner Phil's silent, fidgeting and looking worried. Steve's not sure what to say to put him at ease. He and Hershey will be fine, and Phil will have a good time visiting his friend, it'll all be okay, Steve's sure of it.

"We don't have time to go fishing, so you wanna tell me what's up without a boat?" Steve asks, glancing at Phil out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't like flying, you're gonna ignore everything in the freezer and eat nothing but cookies, and I'm gonna miss Hershey." Phil seems to have rushed all of that out as quickly as he could, like he was afraid he'd back out if he didn't hurry it.

"Your flight will be fine, nothing'll happen. I solemnly promise to use every last bit of food you froze, and well... There's not much I can do for Hershey and you... She'll miss you too, if that helps any." Steve laughs, and Phil sighs.

"I guess... I'm just... I dunno." Phil runs a hand through his hair and sighs again. "I'm being an idiot. You're a grown-ass man, you don't need some kid worrying about you." Phil scowls out the window, and Steve stops the car on the side of the road. Phil turns to him in confusion.

"C'mere." Steve holds his arms out, and Phil blinks at him, looking utterly bewildered. Steve keeps his arms held out, _knowing_ that this is what Phil needs. He's a tactile little thing, he needs comfort, words aren't working, but this will, Steve's sure of it. Slowly, tentatively Phil edges closer, and Steve wraps him up in a hug, not squeezing him, instead leaving it easy for him to break out of Steve's hold if he wants to, if he _needs_ to. "We'll be fine, and when you're back, it'll be like you were never gone. The ranch is your home, Punkster... For as long as you need it, for as long as you want it, okay?" Steve can feel Phil's nod, and he squeezes him lightly. "There, good man." He lets Phil go, and watches him settle back on his side of the car with a little smile on his face.

When they get to the airport, Phil hops into the back of the car, saying goodbye to Hershey, as Steve takes his bag out, and stands there holding it, waiting for Phil.

"You all set?" Steve asks as they walk into the little terminal.

"Yeah, will... Are you going to pick me up?" Phil sounds nervous again, and Steve nods.

"Course I will, Miss Hershey will be there too." Steve laughs, and Phil looks relieved. "Go on then, off you go." The departure boards are showing Phil's flight as leaving soon, and he still needs to get through security. "Have a safe flight... And have fun. Don't worry about us, you just concentrate on having a good time." Phil hefts his bag, and shuffles closer to Steve, giving him an awkward one-armed hug.

"I'll send you a message when I land, and I'll call Christmas." Phil smiles brightly, and Steve nods. He has the feeling that now the precedent has been set, he might have to expect more hugs from Phil in the future. There's a part of him that's hoping its only hugs though, that little brush of a kiss is still carefully un-thought of in the back of his mind.

"Well, I can't reply to those message thingies, but we'll appreciate it." Steve smiles, and waves Phil off, standing watching him until he disappears behind the security line.

The house without Phil feels quiet. He might not be a loud member of the household, but there is an odd, heavy silence without him there. It's almost hard to remember when Steve had been comfortable with this silence. Last year he'd been _fine_ with silence, now he feels _lonely_. Hershey seems lost without her companion, wandering around the place, scratching hopefully at Phil's bedroom door, or sitting on watch on the veranda. Without their little houseguest, it really seems like they're both a little lost and lonely.

"_Merry Christmas, Steve_." Phil's voice on the other end of the line is a surprise, and Steve laughs at just how happy he sounds. In the background there's chattering, the sounds of many happy people all gathered in one place. It's almost depressing how happy Steve is to hear from Phil. The last few days have been strangely hard.

"_Merry Christmas, Mr Austin_!" A loud voice calls, and Steve laughs again. Phil starts berating the person who shouted, making Steve laugh even more. By the sounds of things, that was Phil's friend Scott, he sounds like a cheerful guy, he sounds like the opposite of Phil, and that's more than likely a very good thing for Phil.

"_Hello?_" A woman's voice takes the phone, and Steve's slightly confused.

"Hi? Is everything alright there?" He asks, and the woman laughs, in the background there's the sound of raucous laughter from Phil. It's a good sound, one Steve's never really heard before, but would like to, Phil has a fine laugh and should have more opportunities to use it.

"_We're fine... My son is just rather... Boisterous, I think that's the safest word for him anyways_._ Scott! Let Philip talk to his Steve, and come help me with lunch._" Scott's mother shouts to her son, and there's more laughter from Phil.

"_Mom! Fine..._" There's the sound of the phone being passed back, and then soft panting half-laughter from Phil.

"_Sorry about that. As I was saying, Merry Christmas._" Phil seems to have gotten himself under control, and Steve's almost sorry for that. It'd been nice to hear him so very happy.

"Well... Merry Christmas to you too, Punkster. How's it going? You're not missing the Texan sun too much?" Steve isn't sure what he's hoping Phil's going to say, there's a _little_ part of him that'd like Phil to say yes, he's missing Texas, but more of him is happy that Phil is content where he is.

"_I miss Hershey... How is she? Is she okay?_" Phil sounds deeply worried for the dog, and there's a slightly strange sting of jealousy in Steve.

_They're friends, my rattlesnake. Of course, he misses her._

"Well, I reckon she's missing her buddy too. She's been moping around since you left, sleeping on your bed, not looking too impressed with dog food." Steve laughs, resolutely listening to the imagined words of his wife.

"_I'm gonna have to make her some more cookies when I get home._" Phil laughs, and Steve smiles slightly. He'd never thought he'd hear Phil call the ranch home when he's away from it; it's kind of comforting in a strange way. He'd assured Phil in the truck on the way to the airport, that the ranch was home, and it seems Phil took that to heart.

"She'll appreciate that, I'm sure." Steve isn't too sure how to expand on this conversation, the silence that falls over them seems strangely light, but it makes him uncomfortable all the same. "So you having fun?"

"_Huh? Yeah... Yeah, I am... I..._" Phil sighs, and Steve frowns, not sure what to make of that noise. "_In my room, in the chest at the end of my bed... Your Christmas present is there. I gotta go. I'll be home soon. Bye!_" Phil hangs up before Steve can say anything, and he stares at the phone in his hand, not too sure what just happened.

"Well, Miss Hershey, I imagine that there'll be something in this chest for you too. You wanna go take a look?" The dog glances up at Steve, and stands, walking to Phil's room, where she scratches at the door pitifully as she has been since Phil left. "Yes, Miss Hershey, we're going in." Steve opens the door, and Hershey rushes through it, sniffing around, her tail wagging happily, before she huffs miserably and flops on Phil's bed.

_She really does miss him, doesn't she? My poor girl... You need to fuss over her more till her friend gets home, rattlesnake._

Steve can hear her voice, laughing at them both, can picture his wife sitting on the bed, ruffling Hershey's fur so clearly.

"Right, let's see what we got for Christmas, shall we?" Steve opens the chest, inside there's three brightly wrapped packages. One addressed to Mr and Mrs Ross, and how Phil knew Jim and Jan were coming over today Steve isn't sure, but he supposes they must have told him. The second is for Hershey, and Steve sets it down in front of her. She starts sniffing at it hopefully, licking at the paper. Steve imagines it'll be something edible, so he makes a little tear in the paper, and Hershey gets the idea, pulling it all off enthusiastically. Inside is what looks like an antler, and a little sealed box marked Christmas dog cookies. "Hmm, you enjoy that, Wonder Dog. These are going in the cupboard." Steve cracks the box open, taking a peek at the little treats, each one cut out in a festive shape. The third parcel is addressed to Steve, and there's a little part of him that doesn't really want to open it. He pulls it out and sets it on the end of the bed, staring at it. He should just open it, but there's a silly little part of him that wants to see Phil's face when he does. It's ridiculous, and silly, so Steve pulls the gift open quickly. A thick journal falls on the bed, and a box of cookies, along with a little note.

_**Steve, **_

_**In this book is my story... I don't know if you wanna read it, I don't know if it's your job to know these things, but this is why I'm here. You can read that folder you've got in your bedroom first if you want, or you can read none of it, maybe you don't care, but I'd like you to have the option of hearing it from me before you read what the Authorities have to say. **_

_**I hope you like the cookies. **_

_**Punk x**_

The little X makes Steve think of Phil's lips brushing his cheek. That little kiss Phil had given him on his birthday is something Steve's avoided thinking about, but he supposes he should really consider it a little more. It was probably just a sign of affection though, something without thought or meaning behind it, just something spur of the moment and sweet. Phil's a tactile, _sweet_ person, a peck on the cheek is probably pretty normal for him, or at least it would be if he'd be given the chance to grow up the way he deserved. There's no doubt in Steve's mind that Phil doesn't deserve the life he's had to lead so far. There's no doubting that Phil deserved a life filled with love, and happiness. There's no doubting that whatever is in this journal is going to make Steve want to kill, because, there's no doubting that Phil's life has been horrible so far.

_**Maybe you don't care**_

He's staring at that little phrase in Phil's note, his eyes unmoving from it. It's a simple little phrase, but it hurts him. He cares, he cares _so_ much, and Phil's still capable of thinking that Steve doesn't care for him. There's clearly still a lot of work to do with his little charge, a lot of effort to put in to convince him that Steve cares, he worries, he's concerned, that even if Phil's parents didn't, Steve loves him.

Christmas dinner with Jim and his wife was nice, though much more subdued than Thanksgiving; the table had felt empty, the conversation lacking for Phil's absence. Jan volunteers to do the dishes leaving Steve and Jim sitting in the living room, the TV on, and Hershey curled up in Phil's spot on the couch.

"Something's on your mind, Steve... I can tell, so spill." Jim doesn't stop watching the old rerun to look at Steve, but the tone of voice he used suggests that if he has to, he'll start demanding answers.

"I got a Christmas present from Phil." Steve sighs, he's not sure he really wants to talk about this with Jim, that thick diary is something personal that Phil chose to share with Steve, not Jim.

"Well of course you did." Jim laughs. "You can give him one when he's home." Jim turns to him with a smile, and Steve hands him the note. "Oh... _Oh_..." Jim stares at the note, and then up at Steve. "Have you read it yet?" Steve shakes his head, and Jim refolds the note, setting it on the table. "You need to read it, Steve... Then you need to give it to me so I can pass it to the Authorities." Jim sighs, probably feeling the weight of the glare Steve knows he's firing Jim's way. He knows that the Authorities would love to read Phil's journal, and Steve knows he'll have to give it to them, but there's a selfish part of him that wants to keep it for himself.

"I know... Gimme till he's home... Till the ninth." Steve thinks that might be long enough to read the journal, and calm down enough to be able to resist getting on a plane to O'Hare.

"Alright... You want me to pick him up?" Jim sighs, shifting up on the couch to let his wife sit beside him.

"No, I'll fetch him. I think Hershey's going mad without her little Punk. Aren't you, Wonder Dog?" Hershey looks up at Steve, her eyebrows wriggling, before she huffs, and flops her head back down.

"She really has gotten attached, hasn't she?" Jan laughs, and Steve ruffles Hershey's ears. She is very attached, but it's easy to get attached to Phil, so Steve can't blame her.

Once his guests have gone, and Steve's let Hershey into Phil's room for the night, she seems to be convinced that if she sleeps in her spot in the morning her little charge will have miraculously returned to her, and Steve doesn't have the heart to ruin her hopes, Steve heads to bed. Phil's journal and the manila folder are sitting on the comforter in front of him. He doesn't want to read this, he can already tell he doesn't want to, but he _has _to, he needs to know what Phil's been going through. He opens the first page, but can't make it past a single word. He needs to know but not tonight, he can't face it today. He'll read it before New Year's. That gives him a week, and Steve can only hope that's long enough to handle the horrors of Phil's life. Once he knows, then Steve will face the New Year with a new perspective, he'll understand his little charge better. He'll be able to use the remaining time to convince Phil that he's loved, that he's precious, that no matter what's in this journal, Steve, and Hershey, will be there for him.

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**_InYourHonour, **_AshJoivillette, Athena MacG,_** _****_**_**_**_littleone1389_**_**_**_****_**_, _**_****_**_Shiki94_**_****_**_**_**_, _**_**_**_****_**_Rebellecherry, _**_****_and **_**_**_**_Brokenspell77_**_**_**._**_**

_Thank you once more for your patience with this fic. It's slow going, but I did get December out before Christmas, so yay me? I have to admit I was both surprised and pleased to see sorrow for the deceased poultry. (It then occurred to me that one of the main characters in this fic is a dog, and that that's pretty weird, but how can you not love SCSA's Hershey the Wonder Dog... She's so cute!) _

_This chapter posed me quite a few problems, in so many ways... If you find something that's off, please let me know! _

**I'm _more_ than interested in your thoughts... So _please_ review!**

_Merry (early) Christmas!_


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